


Slivers of Lead: Wherever Your Rosy Devil May Roam

by pints (MegCapet)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1485406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegCapet/pseuds/pints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he wanted was a good night's sleep. Was that honestly too much to ask? Well, yes. It might be. If you've committed yourself to a life of protecting your beloved city from the forces of Hell. </p><p>Meet Paolo Maldini, demon hunter. His best friend and roommate, Andrea Pirlo(sort of like a librarian on crack, with a taste for the supernatural). Officer Dejan Stankovic, who still isn't EXACTLY sure what he's gotten himself into. And Sandro, your friendly neighborhood incubus. Together they solve crime, protect the innocent and generally do good works with help from a rotating cast of supernatural friends and... almost friends, all with motives as varied as their powers. </p><p>In "Wherever Your Rosy Devil May Roam", Paolo and his team investigate a series of grisly murders with obvious supernatural connections. With the help of demon businessman Zlatan Ibrahimovic, the digging begins and soon it becomes obvious. This is nothing the team have seen before. This is a new evil. And this is going to be dangerous.</p><p>This 12-chapter story is completed and will be updated every other day until all chapters have been posted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was co-authored with roadtoharmony (on LJ), back in 2008.
> 
> Huge, huge, HUGE thanks goes out to our wonderful beta bustedflush (on LJ)- you know we love you.

It was just half past two in the morning when Paolo was awakened by his roommate's sleepy, but insistent voice (and an incessant finger poking his side).

"Paolo. The phone. It's Officer Stankovic. Something has happened," Andrea said and shoved the phone in the older man's face.

Paolo was already half out of the bed as he answered it.

"What is it, Dejan? ... Where are you?" Paolo had already reached for his shirt on a nearby chair and was quickly buttoning it, phone held between shoulder and ear. 

"Yes, yes. I know where that is. I can be there in about fifteen minutes." He was hopping into his jeans and turned around to Andrea as he hung up. "Have you seen my... oh."

Andrea was already holding out the belt Paolo had wanted to inquire about.

"How do you do that? It's eerie." Paolo smiled at his friend who still looked like he was about to fall over from sleepiness and took the belt, quickly drawing it through his beltloops. "What would I do without you?"

"I think we both agree that we were made for eerie, and I would rather not think about your last question -- mayhem." Andrea joked and picked up the phone, then followed Paolo out into the living room. "What happened?"

"Dejan couldn't give me any specifics. He doesn't know himself. Some gruesome murder, out near the docks. He had rather that it was a demon than a human, he told me."

"You'll be careful?"

"I always am, Andrea." Paolo grabbed his leather jacket and his car keys, then strapped on his weapons as Andrea handed them to him, as usual.

"Call me when you need something."

"Andrea, it'll be alright. It's just a crime scene. Go and get some sleep, you look like you need it." Paolo ruffled his hair and was out of the door the next moment.

Paolo blasted something loud and heavy to keep awake, despite the short drive that was further abbreviated by the fact that there was probably only one other car out on the road. Singing along with that mixtape (Andrea had made it for him years ago, and Paolo had never found anything quite as perfect for late night investigations), Paolo found the trip to be almost peaceful. The city was much more beautiful, he decided at that exact moment, when the people were missing.

Pulling up to the docks, Paolo wasn't surprised to see Officer Dejan Stankovic waiting for him, his arms crossed, taping his foot as though he had been made to wait an hour instead of twenty minutes. Dejan was a genuine sort of person, with a smile that told you everything you needed to know about him. Paolo hadn't exactly intended on finding himself an inside man, but when the Serbian police officer had cornered him one crisp fall afternoon two years ago, Paolo had accepted that having a member of the law enforcement on your side wouldn't be a half-bad idea. At least it would put Andrea's mind at ease when Paolo was made to leave in the almost silly hours of the morning to look at this or that dead body...

"Were you having a good sleep?"

Paolo groaned at the policeman. "Let's not rub it in."

Dejan laughed and cocked his head in the direction of a large group of strangely quiet officers. "This way, big boy."

Paolo followed him, growing slightly uneasy when he caught sight of a couple younger boys vomiting into nearby bushes. "What exactly IS it, Dejan?"

"Oh... oh. You'll see."

Dejan poked a few of his coworkers out of the way and tugged Paolo in between them, opening his arms wide to present the other man with what could only be described as butchery. The woman's (at least... Paolo assumed it was a woman) stomach was torn open like a present, her various organs laid out for all to see, if they weren't missing. Her face had been mutilated beyond recognition, just a bloody red mass surrounded by wet hair. Paolo swallowed hard and took a step forward, leaning in to get a better look at the monstrous scratches that lined the inside of her naked thighs. 

"What happened here?"

Dejan had walked away, patting his youngest officer on the back as he finished emptying his stomach. "I have no idea. I thought you might tell me, demon hunter."  
Paolo turned around, studying the corpse again that looked even more gruesome in the stark white light the police had put up to illuminate the scene, the blood on the ground appearing almost black.

He didn't say a thing for a good two minutes, and Dejan knew better than to prod him now. Instead he buried his hands in the pockets of his coat and quietly talked to one of the younger officers, telling him to make sure that the press didn't get wind of what had happened.

What he saw in Paolo's face when the demon hunter turned back around wasn't really reassuring.

"You don't know it either, do you."

"No, I have no idea. Can you give me some details on when she was found and who found her? I suppose there are no witnesses?"

Dejan shook his head and laid a hand on the small of Paolo's back, leading him to one of the police cars nearby.

"She was found about an hour ago, by one of the dock workers... Needless to say, the man is currently being treated for shock. We haven't yet found out who she is. Forensics left shortly before you arrived, there were no fingerprints, no nothing. There are traces of blood that lead away from her body, but they suddenly stopped. We need to wait for the autopsy to tell us which organs are missing - the coroner was sure at least heart and liver aren't there." Dejan leaned down and rummaged through the glove box of his police car. "The photographer left me some close ups. Maybe you'll be able to tell me more about it now?"

The demon hunter took the pictures the younger man handed over and studied them. Nothing. Well, apart from...

"You found something, didn't you?" Dejan asked, having gotten pretty good at reading the other man's silences. 

Paolo nodded curtly. "I am not sure you are going to like it though."

"There is nothing I like about this case to begin with, obviously." 

Paolo handed him one of the pictures depicting the victim's seven deep wounds on her thighs, each about two inches deep and wide, but at least ten inches long.

"Dejan, these are bite marks."

"Bite marks?! Jesus Christ. Well, that leaves no doubt that it has to be something from your field of work." Dejan ran a hand through his hair. "You cannot tell me what it was though, can you?"

"I can't, but I know someone who just might. Keep me informed if something new comes up. I'll call you as soon as I find out more," Paolo pocketed the pictures and jogged back to his car. 

+

Paolo shoved the photos into Fabio's hand the moment the vampire opened his door, knocking back the far older man by his sudden movement.

"It's nice to see you, too!" Fabio folded his arms and made it a point not to even glance at the photos.

The vampire led them both into a more comfortable room and Paolo collapsed on one of the dusty couches that filled the absolutely massive house, his eyes closing almost on their own. "I'm sorry, Fabi. It's just been a very stressful night."

"Must be," Fabio said, coming up behind the demon hunter and massaging his tense shoulders. "It's a rare night that you come all that way out here without notice. In fact, I was starting to think you didn't care for me anymore."

"I've been very busy," Paolo explained weakly.

Fabio giggled and kissed the top of Paolo's head. "I'm not offended, my love. You have a demanding line of work. I almost forgive you."

Paolo took Fabio's hand and tugged him around to sit on the couch next to him. "As much as I would like to spend the rest of the night flirting with you, those photos... I need an opinion. I thought you might be able to help."

"Thought of me first, did you?" Fabio blushed and leaned into Paolo, pulling the images up close and squinting at them intensely. "You think this was a vampire?"

Paolo brought out the image of the woman's thigh and pointed, "Those... those are bite marks."

"Well, they're not VAMPIRE bite marks. Notice how much blood was spilt. There's not way that one of MINE would do that."

Paolo shifted uncomfortably and stared at the bites. "Maybe a ...?"

"Renegade?" Fabio asked, "No, no. Even a vampire with not an ounce of real training in the killing arts would leave that much blood. It is our FOOD, you know."

Paolo nodded and pulled the photos from Fabio's tight grip. "Either you recognize the style or you don't. Please don't play with me tonight, Fabio. I'm exhausted."

Fabio pouted a little, but sat up and started towards his library, an even dustier room that housed the man's ever expanding collection of vampire films, books and images. Paolo had always thought this a little egotistical, but Fabio insisted it was a form of amusement rather than some sort of psychological masturbation. The vampire dug around in his desk drawer for a moment, but holding out a business card with a look of triumph. "This is the man you want."

"Zlatan Ibrahimovic?" Paolo said disbelievingly as he stared down at the card

Fabio shrugged. "Oh, I'm not saying he DID it. Something so... gruesome is FAR from Zlatan's style. He's a businessman. Imagines himself to be very refined and all that. I'm just saying... he's been around a lot longer than I have. He might be able to help you where I fall short."

Paolo slipped the card into his pocket, and started to leave. But before he could touch the door, Fabio's hand rested over his, squeezing tightly.

"Paolo... just remember. Even a 'refined' demon is still a demon," Fabio whispered, despite the lonely air of the house. "Even if he knows of the creature that did this, there is no guaranteeing that he will simply hand such information over to you."

Paolo tugged his hand away and opened the door. "You worry too much, Fabio. I've dealt with plenty of demons before."

"Oh," Fabio said with a laugh, "But you don't know Zlatan."

+

Paolo found himself going over everything Fabio had said as he drove through the city, dawn still a good hour off. He was used to Andrea's worrying, but usually the vampire was less insistent when it came to anything but his video library and Paolo's so-called "lack of attentiveness to his favourite undead". He unsuccessfully tried to blame the night's events for his edginess.

It was no big surprise that he entered their shared apartment to find Andrea sitting in an armchair, facing the door, knees drawn up and huddled under a blanket. Paolo could have made preparations for a five-days trip and still Andrea would have insisted on staying up until he was back.

"You look tired," Andrea said quietly and got up, kicking the blanket off to pad over to his friend. "It was bad then?"

Paolo sighed and gave Andrea a defeated look. "I had rather not talk about the details, but yes, it was gruesome. Safe to say that at least five of Dejan's boys could have spared themselves the trouble of dinner yesterday."

"Is it a demon then? One we know?"

"That's the problem - I couldn't discern anything I'm familiar with, so I drove out to Fabi's. All he could tell me was that it wasn't a vampire, and then he gave me this and told me to visit with him."

The demon hunter pulled both the pictures and the business card from his coat, but handed only the latter over to his friend.

"Zlatan Ibrahimovic... The name rings a bell. I'll be right back." The slighter man shuffled off into his room, leaving Paolo to fend for himself.

A good five minutes later, Andrea came back carrying newspapers and post-its of various sizes. 

"The patented Pirlo sorting, eh?" Paolo grinned and scooted over on the couch so Andrea could sit down, pushing up his glasses as he went through his notes.

"Zlatan Ibrahimovic, owner and chief executive of Ibrahimovic Technologies. Specialises in professional geographical surveylance - evaluation of maps and hard-to-reach territories for their potential value in terms of raw materials -- believed to be one of the richest men in the city. Loves technology, Tchaikovsky and fast German cars. Nothing else known about his private life."

"Nothing about his status as a demon?"

"He's a demon?"

"So Fabio told me, yes, and apparently quite an old and powerful one, too, and might know what it was that killed that poor woman."

"Do you think it safe to go there on your own then?" Andrea asked, worrying his bottom lip.

"Quite sure, Andrea," Paolo smiled slightly and squeezed Andrea's hand before getting up. "There's not much he can do, I just want some information. I'll try to get some sleep now, and so should you."

+

Paolo walked determinedly up to the posh, modern-looking building that was Ibrahimovic Technologies' headquarters. 

"My name is Paolo Maldini. I'd like to talk to Mr. Ibrahimovic, please."

The concierge looked at him as if he had grown a proverbial second head, "Mr. Maldini, I am not sure you are welcome here."

"If you are not sure, I'd be eternally grateful if you could inquire about this," Paolo replied sarcastically, his patience already wearing thin. "You will find that I carry no weapons, I merely want some information, and I am sure Mr. Ibrahimovic will not object to that unless he rather likes the idea of losing his power to the new resident evil in town."

The man behind the counter swallowed audibly, but picked up the phone nevertheless.

Not even one minute later, five heavyset figures entered from a side door and motioned for Paolo to follow them. They took the elevator up the twelfth floor where they led him into a huge room overlooking the city. As far as Paolo could tell, three of the five were in fact humans, the other two were demons of lower ranks. The demon hunter refused to be intimidated when the grouped around him and merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"We've come this far, surely you don't want to risk our budding friendship by attacking me now, do you?" 

Paolo absently wondered how Andrea would react when he returned with a set of broken ribs as he saw the oldest of them lunge at him.

He had only a moment to draw both breath and the very poorly guarded knife from one of the human's belts, before the largest of the them was practically on top of him, a heavy fist into Paolo's jaw. Paolo doubled over, but didn't stop, instead pushing into the man's stomach at full force with his head. The other man fell over, clutching his stomach, which, Paolo figured, would give him a few minutes to deal with the other four in turn. One of the humans had already run off towards what he assumed would be Zlatan. He was tempted to follow him ( the room wasn't SO big) but the more menacing looking demon stepped between Paolo and his escape route, sharp teeth grinding together. 

"Why can't it ever be easy?" Paolo complained, twirling the knife a few times for style before stabbing it right into the demon's chest. The sound that filled the room was partly a guttural groan, half a banshee scream, but the demon backed away, a thick pasty blood oozing from his wound. Paolo was distracted just long enough to have the one remaining unharmed human grab his wrist and twist the knife from his hand. Paolo watched the knife fall to the ground in slow motion, his eyes flicking between the man who grasped for it and the other demon, licking his lips at the now defenceless demon-hunter. The man Paolo had hit to the ground was just starting to get back up, his face still a little pale from the shock of the quick attack. Paolo gulped and lifted his hands for a more close-range sort of battle, when from the darkened corner of the room, he heard a soft, but very precise round of applause.

"Bravo! All very well, Paolo Maldini. I'm almost impressed, considering..."

Paolo turned his head towards the voice just in time to be kicked squarely in the back by the man who had taken his knife.

"That's it. Nothing too harmful, boys. Bring him here. I wish to see his face."

Paolo coughed, trying to regain his breath. The remaining demon laughed and lifted Paolo roughly by his hair until the demon hunter's feet just grazed the ground. The demon's snake-like tongue slipped over Paolo's cheek and he jerked away quickly. "Just take me to your boss."

"You have no power here, silly man."

Paolo spit back at him, tasting blood in his mouth from his harsh fall to the ground. "Your master will have no power in the CITY soon enough if he doesn't listen to me."

A bright light suddenly beamed down from the ceiling, illuminating a grand, almost throne-like seat, occupied by the one Paolo could only assume was called Zlatan. A smaller, more classically beautiful young man sat near him, his eyes fixed on Paolo, though they would have seemed hollow and unseeing to the untrained eye. 

"Don't feel too sure. I simply didn't want them to have the pleasure of killing this city's renowned resident demon hunter. I'd like to do that myself," Zlatan said with a terrible grin. "I have far more power than that which I have let you see. I could kill you in a instant. I could blink and your pathetic human life would be extinguished." 

"You will find that this is a bad idea. You are in trouble. Your power is threatened," Paolo said, pulling away from the foul-smelling demon and reaching into his coat for the manila folder which contained the photos from the crime scene.

Zlatan eyed him suspiciously, his eyes shifting almost imperceptibly to the boy sitting near him. "I don't think you are in the right position to judge that." The demon sounded a little more shaken than before.

"Oh, I would think I am."

Zlatan narrowed his eyes and nodded to the demon that had brought Paolo before him. The minion took the envelope from the demon hunter and handed it to the businessman who then scrutinised the pictures in his hands, carefully looking at the first, then back at Paolo, then the second, the third, the fourth - his eyes constantly going up again as if to measure the man before him.

Neither spoke for a few moments. Zlatan brushed a hand against the nape of the man that was sitting to his right and wordlessly handed the pictures to him. There was a flash of something in the man's eyes, but they went back to appearing barren as soon as he laid them on the pictures.

Zlatan tilted his head to the side, voice grave and not brooking any arguments.

"You had better tell me where you got these from, demon hunter." 

Paolo however didn't even flinch, his voice steadfast as he replied, "It's not important where or how I got these pictures. But I trust you have seen the truth to what I have been trying to tell you the whole time - you and your ascendancy in this city are threatened. If you help me, I will be able to help you. It's a simple enough deal, but will guarantee merit for both of us."

The demon threw his head back, laughing scornfully, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. 

"What, pray tell me, should convince me to believe you? A mere human. A demon hunter, who has cost me more than a fair share of my most trusted men, no doubt, but a mere human nevertheless. You are lucky you even got this far, and it's nothing if not a show of my incredible patience and humour, Mr. Maldini."

Then he got up and approached Paolo, a dark, mocking glint in his eyes. He studied Paolo for a minute, then held out a hand behind him, beckoning the other man to his side. When the young man ('a boy, really,' Paolo thought as he studied the handsome, yet peculiarly passive face) had taken his place next to Zlatan, silence descended again.

Zlatan finally spoke up, "I will hear you out, but you had better understand that it is not you that makes deals here. Zlatan will help you, if you help Zlatan."

Paolo nodded once, successfully suppressing the eye-roll he thought rather counter-productive at that moment, and followed the demon when he and the boy led him into a smaller room, one that obviously served as an office of sorts. Zlatan sat down behind his desk, the boy coming to stand at his back. No offer to sit down was given, nor did Paolo expect one.

"Obviously the pictures got to you, and I doubt it was in empathy for the woman. We both realise a demon is behind it, and a powerful one at that if he has been able to evade your notice up to now. He can't be one of yours, or we wouldn't be having this talk. What it boils down to, Mr. Ibrahimovic, is that we both want him out of this city. For this we need to know what drew him here in the first place. I have the necessary knowledge and experience to track him down, but I need some information on him first, and that is precisely what I came here for."

Zlatan stared hard at the other man, then he broke into a small, but appreciative smile.

"Very well. This demon is Eurynome. The Prince of Death. He feeds off dead bodies and carrion. Your task will be to scout him out and find out why he left Hell. And, of course, I want you to find a way to condemn him back where he came from."

The businessman reached out and scribbled something on a small piece of paper.

"You will be able to reach me or my proxy under this number at any time. Needless to say, should I feel the need to contact you, I will find you, be sure of that. You supply the necessary information and I will forget that you are responsible for quite a few losses in my ranks. My men will be told to assist you should the need arise." He handed the note over to Paolo. "You had better see to the success of this venture, Mr. Maldini, but I am sure we agree on this." 

The demon turned around in his seat and addressed the human that had not made a sound all throughout their discussion, "Now, Luis, if you'd be so kind and show Mr. Maldini out..."

The boy walked him out slowly, waving off the larger demon who tried to accompany the two of them. Even his footsteps seemed quieter than the average human and after a few moments of the strange silence, Paolo opened his mouth to speak.

"No, Mr. Maldini. I cannot help you. My allegiance is to my master. Always to my master."

Paolo nodded and adjusted his leather jacket, "But..."

"My Master is a good man, though he may seem demanding to those who do not know him," Luis said, his voice as steady as his steps.

Paolo took a few quicker steps and placed a hand on Luis's shoulder, turning him around roughly. "Who are you?"

"That is not information you need to complete your work for Mr. Ibrahimovic," Luis whispered, leaning in until Paolo was almost lost in those dark eyes. Luis took a few steps back and raised his arm, pointing to the left, his voice much stronger when he continued, "That is the door to the front of the building where you came. You have four minutes to walk from here to your car and to leave this place. Do not come back without an invitation."

Paolo shook his head to release himself from the hold of Luis's hollow gaze and started towards the exit.

"Oh! And Mr. Maldini..."

Paolo turned around suddenly, almost running into the lone potted plant that was meant to decorate the reception area.

"Don't think I'm not watching you. Everywhere you go, remember. You looked into my eyes."

Paolo didn't have ask what that meant. He knew it wasn't good.


	2. Chapter 2

"WHERE IN THE NAME OF ALL HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!"

Paolo walked into his apartment, not terribly surprised to find Sandro (his former enemy, present lover, constant annoyance) jumping up from the couch in his always too-tight jeans and partially unbuttoned shirt. Their story was one that Paolo was never a fan of recounting, as it tended to take the better part of the night and was, honestly, a little embarrassing. The most anyone needed to know was that, yes, Sandro did tend to stay over most nights of the week and no, Paolo wasn't planning on kicking him out anytime soon. The exact details weren't important, so long as that was understood.

"PAAAAAOLO!! WHY WHY WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME?! This is so unfair! You tell Andrea where you're going! You always tell Andrea where you're going and you won't tell your boyfriend?!"

Paolo held up a finger. "You're not my boyfriend."

Sandro's mouth fell open. "Excuse me?! I give you all the sex you could possibly want, I break bread with you almost every night, and give you days of joy and happiness. I didn't realize that qualified me as anything else!"

Paolo shrugged him off and walked into Andrea's bedroom, not bothering to knock. "Andrea, do you have a minute?"

Andrea jumped up from his book, lovingly slipping his bookmark between the pages and headed into the kitchen to put on some tea while Paolo took a seat at the table. "Was that Zlatan able to tell you anything?"

"ZLATAN?! PAOLO, YOU WENT TO SEE ZLATAN AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?! I could have NEVER seen you again!"

Paolo slapped a hand over Sandro's mouth and told Andrea quickly about his adventures with Zlatan, purposefully leaving out the entire attack sequence that had made his initial arrival a little... awkward. Andrea sat, completely enraptured as Paolo described Zlatan and then Luis and those terrifying eyes, until the kettle was whistling angrily at all three of them. 

"And he did know something about the attack..."

Andrea almost spilt the hot tea into his lap.

"He says the attacks match the patterns of one 'Eurynome'. Some hellish Prince with a taste for corpses. Doesn't sound like anything I've had to deal with before," Paolo said, finally letting his hand away from Sandro's mouth.

"PAOLO! ZLATAN IS NOT SOMEONE TO MESS WITH."

Andrea rolled his eyes and spooned a bit of sugar into Paolo's tea. "Give me a few hours. I'll have everything you need."

"You're amazing, you know?" Paolo said with a smile.

Andrea laughed it off despite the blush staining his cheeks and ducked his head, nervously cleaning his glasses on his shirt.

"It's what I'm here for, right? The research, and the laundry," he laughed again before getting up and preparing the other two cups of tea, handing one to Sandro as a kind of peace offering before he vanished into his room.

Sandro leant against the counter, his jaw working as he processed the things he had just heard.

"Paolo..." His voice was dark and threatening, even though Paolo could easily discern the worry beneath it.

"I do not want to argue with you about this, Sandro. I appreciate your concern, but as usual, it is misplaced." Paolo got up and placed his cup in the sink, turning around and heading out into the hallway, intending to check his gear for the night's patrolling and, if possible, catch up on the sleep he had been missing. But Sandro grabbed his arm and tugged him back before pushing him into a chair and staring him down.

"Paolo, I am NOT KIDDING. You don't know Zlatan."

"Funny. It's not the first time I have heard this in the last twenty-four hours," Paolo snorted and made to get up, but Sandro pushed him down again, an angry flash in his eyes.

"Then maybe you should just fucking believe it, Maldini," Sandro snarled and got right into Paolo's face. "He isn't just a demon, for fuck's sake! He is a businessman as well! He doesn't just have supernatural powers, but earthly resources as well and that smile... you can't trust it! You can't trust HIM."

Sandro pulled back slightly and took a calming breath, an unusually gentle hand tracing Paolo's jawline and grabbing his chin to turn it to the side, showing the faint red mark that still remained from the blow the demon hunter had taken earlier that day.

"Don't take me for a fool, Paolo. I am neither blind nor am I as easily swayed as our little bookworm there," Sandro said and nodded his head into the direction of Andrea's room where they could hear him rummaging around.

Paolo shook off Sandro's hand and pressed him against the counter.

"Just because Andrea isn't a demon does not mean he doesn't know anything about them, Incubus. Just because HE doesn't go around sleeping with whomever he wants and stealing their energy doesn't mean his word is not to be taken at face value! Why, I am inclined to say the complete opposite is the case! Apart from that, Ibrahimovic and I have an agreement - I am not going to go back on my word. His information has been invaluable! Now if you will excuse me, unlike others I have had a busy day."

The demon hunter turned around on his heel and made for his room.

"YOU KNOW FULL WELL YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE I ... "

Sandro's shout was cut off by the banging of the door. The demon slammed his head against the cupboard behind himself and cursed the foolishness of mankind as well as his own for good measure.

+

Sandro was still sitting in an armchair, staring out of the window when Andrea emerged from his room three hours later, carrying all sorts of books, notes, even a rolled up poster of a bas-relief of sorts that probably only three people all over the world knew about. The demon rolled his eyes.

"Paolo's in his room. Go and get him, Andrea. I am sure he will do your bidding, as usual," he snapped and angrily got up, vanishing into the kitchen again.

Andrea just shrugged, pretty much used to Sandro's little sulky fits by now, and went to Paolo's, knocking on the door.

"Come in!" Paolo was sitting cross-legged on his bed, phone at his ear. 

". . . won't have been the last case, I am afraid. -- Yes, Dejan, I know I could have given you better news than this. -- Yes, understood. -- No, I swear not every demon means certain death," Paolo laughed a little despite himself and hung up, then turned to Andrea.

"Have had a successful round of research?"

"Yes, and well, that Zlatan wasn't lying. Paolo, this is serious. Really serious."

Paolo recognised the nervousness and worry in his best friend by the rigid set of his shoulders and walked over to him, running a gentle hand through his hair, smiling a little. 

"You worry too much. I haven't even started the hunt and you already worry, Andrea. Tell me what you found out."

Andrea's eyes brightened a little and he flopped down on the bed, setting down the books carefully. "Eurynome. He's not just a demon, but you knew his position from that Ibrahimovic character. What he didn't tell you is that we're looking at a demon who has never been successfully banished back into Hell. In fact, I think we're looking at a demon far older than most of what we've ever encountered."

Paolo leaned back against the headboard and watched Andrea open up several massive tomes. "Never? You mean... he's just been hanging out in our world all this time? How have we never heard of him?"

Andrea shook his head and pointed about halfway down a page in the largest of his books. The script was faded and Paolo couldn't read a word of it, so he simply nodded and waited for Andrea to continue. "No, I mean... this one just returns to Hell when he's full. He eats and eats and eats and when he's done, he disappears."

"So this one came out of Hell on his own?"

"No, no. I didn't say that." Andrea unrolled a fragile looking scroll and passed it to Paolo, who, again, simply nodded. "Eurynome CAN be called out of Hell by psychics or even just stupid teenagers playing around on a Ouiji board. I gather that he likes the attention. I can imagine, however, that he's difficult to control. This one makes his own choices. It won't be as easy as simply cutting off his 'master' or 'source'. You'll need to banish HIM."

Paolo let out a deep breath and handed the scroll back to Andrea. "Anything in these books to help out with that?"

Andrea shook his head, his entire world seemingly shattered by the failure of his library to produce the answer. "Like I said, no one has even done it. You'd sort of be making history."

"I hate making history," Paolo complained, tossing his cell phone onto the night stand. 

"Did you tell Officer Stankovic what Zlatan said?"

Paolo nodded. "He wants me to come in tomorrow morning. They found another victim, maybe two. But I'm exhausted... I can't."

Andrea smiled and patted Paolo's knee. "You need your rest. I'll ... I'll be in the library, seeing what I can find. Maybe I've overlooked something?"

Paolo laughed. "I doubt it. If my Andrea can't find it, it doesn't exist."

"Paolo, just get some sleep," Andrea said, blushing terribly before heading out, turning out the light as he went.

Paolo crawled under his covers and had just started to close his eyes when he felt a familiar weight slide in beside him. "Sandro, I need to go to sleep."

"I'm not sorry I snapped at you, Paolo," Sandro said quickly, kissing the back of his lover's neck gently before biting a little into the exposed skin.

"I didn't figure you would be. You never are!'

Sandro licked at the little wound he had made. "I just worry for you sometimes. You humans have no sense of real power. Real power like that power Zlatan has."

Paolo shifted away from him slightly. "I'm not in the mood, Sandro. I'm beyond being in need of sleep. Just..."

Sandro huffed and pulled Paolo back against him, spooning him without shame, letting that practically constant erection press against Paolo's ass. "It hurts that you won't believe that I simply care about you."

Paolo rolled his eyes and tried to ignore him. "Care? Love? It's not in your nature."

"You most of all should know that not all demons are so strictly definable. Won't you just let me touch you?" Sandro's voice had taken on that silky and delicious tone it often did when the incubus was trying to be charming. 

Paolo grunted something vaguely noncommital, but didn't move away this time. Sandro smirked and cuddled against him.

+

"I'm here to see Officer Stankovic?"

The receptionist sat up a little straighter in her seat, flashing her brightest smile at the even more exhausted demon hunter. "May I ask for what business?"

"He called me. He'll know."

She giggled a little at Paolo's short response and picked up her phone. "Officer? Mr. Maldini is here to see you."

Paolo was only a little distressed by the fact that she remembered his name. 

"He's ready to see you now, Mr. Maldini." The woman smiled prettily and leaned over a little, forearms firmly on the desk, presenting her cleavage in what Paolo supposed was meant to be an inviting manner. 

"Ehm, yes. Thank you."

Her giggle followed him down the hall. He took the two flights of stairs and entered Dejan's office without knocking.

The other man was leaning over his desk, absently tucking his tie into his shirt and out of the way as he peered over the papers on his desk. His sleeves were carefully rolled up and he wore black slacks, humming to himself as he turned the page of one of the folders littering his desk.

Paolo grinned and briefly entertained the idea of pulling the officer's leg by becoming the Lauren Bacall to Dejan's Humphrey Bogart, but immediately discarded the idea altogether when he spotted the pictures of another two murders pinned to the board in the back, reminding him of why he had come here in the first place.

He knocked on the open door, making Dejan look up with a surprised expression that didn't hide the fatigue hiding underneath. 

"Looks like I am not the only one who still runs on too little sleep, huh?" Paolo stepped into the small and decidedly messy office and closed the door behind himself. 

Dejan just nodded and stretched, trying to work out the kinks in his back.

"The whole last day has been awful, Paolo. Awful. We've got two more murders of the same kind. A boy, barely even twenty, and a baker, 58. Found in totally different parts of the city - the boy must have been killed shortly after the girl, and the man was found near the northern cemetery just after 9 am."

Dejan went around the desk and pulled out a chair for Paolo to sit on while he went over to the coffee machine to get each of them a cup of coffee, leaving it black and strong since they both needed it.

He sat down beside the demon hunter and pulled the files closer, a set of equally gruesome photos attached to each of them.

"God, these are even worse than the woman, aren't they," Paolo nearly whispered and flipped through the folder closest to him -- the boy had been on his way to his mother, just having arrived in the city on a night train after three months at university. Paolo closed his eyes and sighed.

"Any more cases?"

"Not that I know of, thank God - but as you said, it's only a question of time until it happens again. Plus the other task forces? Were busy last night, too. I'm waiting for the reports of their cases of the last 48 hours to come in. If I am telling you that all hell broke lose, I am not exaggerating." The officer slumped a little in his chair and took a sip of his coffee.

"No, Dejan, you aren't." Paolo sighed again and passed a weary hand over his face. "Dejan, the demon I told you about? Eurynome?"

Officer Stankovic looked at him sideways, already dreading what was to come.

"He's the Prince of Death. He came straight from Hell, whether by someone's bidding or on his own, I do not know yet. But he feasts on the dead, so..." Paolo trailed off, his eyes involuntarily landing on the pictures of the demon's mutilated victims again.

"Andrea found this out?" Dejan asked wearily, knowing that if that was the case, there would be no fault in the information. He half-hoped that Andrea had fucked up his research for the first time ever, and he hoped it badly.

The demon hunter nodded, but added, "I told you I didn't recognise the handwriting of the demon, right? I went to one of my sources who couldn't help me either, but he sent me to Zlatan Ibrahimovic. Do you know him?" 

Paolo carefully set down his cup and studied the other man as he thought about Paolo's question. The demon hunter smiled to himself at the befuddled look on Dejan's face that told you he was thinking hard, the name ringing a bell without him being able to pinpoint it. Paolo liked this about Dejan - he was open, and honest, and never thought about hiding that fact, confident enough in his abilities not to care.

"Ah, dammit. Let me have a look, I know him from somewhere..." Dejan got up and rounded the desk again, sitting down in his chair and pulling the keyboard towards himself before quickly typing the demon's name into the database search.

"Yeah, we only have one hit - Zlatan Ibrahimovic, speeding ticket, date... July 3rd, 1973. Wow. I would say it was a different Zlatan Ibrahimovic, but... if he's one of yours... And not a very common name now, is it?" Dejan quickly hit a key and printed what little information he had been able to come up with, carefully folding the piece of paper and adding it to a stack of files that was resting to his right before he pushed it over to Paolo's side of the desk.

"These are copies of the last two murders, as well as some pictures. I figured you might need both, so I --"

There was a knock on the door that cut him off.

"Yes?"

The receptionist stepped in with a charming grin, carrying folders of different sizes.

"Officer Zanetti dropped these off with me, he said you have been wanting the files from the last two days?" The woman might have been talking to Officer Stankovic, but here eyes remained fixed on the demon hunter.

"That's great, Laura," Dejan said with a wide smile, "And you're LOOKING great, too."

The receptionist gave him a rather pitying look, but made a show of dropping one of the folders and bending far over to pick it up, "Oops! Clumsy me!"

Paolo yawned and took another deep drink from his coffee, before leaning forward and taking the folded sheet of paper from the top of Dejan's extensive stack. The photo on record was definitely the same Zlatan he had spoken with the night before - there was no mistaking that nose. The Italian studied the report as though it were about to yield some deep and hidden secret, but there really was nothing much. Zlatan's license had been valid, his insurance up to date, and hadn't really been "speeding" much of anywhere, having been clocked at only 8 miles over the limit. The grainy photo, however, didn't lie. Zlatan HAD been around the city a long time. If anyone had the connections to raise Eurynome from Hell, it would be him. 

Dejan was too busy jumping up to help the receptionist to notice the contemplative mood that had overcome his friend, but once she was gone (having realized that Paolo simply wasn't in the mood for a quick flirt), the police investigator slumped back in his chair, "How DO you do it?!"

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? The woman was practically DROOLING on you and you didn't even say a word to her!"

Paolo shrugged. "Maybe THAT'S why. Perhaps you shouldn't talk so much, Deki."

Dejan rolled his eyes and opened up the top folder from Officer Zanetti's delivery. "Nothing too terribly out of the ordinary from the other forces. But that doesn't mean much... I'll keep a look out for missing persons and the like. This ... Eurynome? You say he eats these people?"

Paolo nodded. He didn't need to say anything. Dejan's face told him it was enough.

The officer bit at one of his nails. "That means... that means there could be ... pieces everywhere. Anywhere."

"Right," Paolo barely whispered, tempted to reach out and pat Dejan on the back. For all that he had seen in his line of work and his experiences with Paolo, the Serb was still a pretty sensitive sort of guy. Suffering simply wasn't something he could just handle. Paolo could almost see Dejan's brain ticking, imagining the terror, the pain, the absolute anguish of the demon's victim as their stomach were torn up, their organs stolen. 

Dejan took a deep breath and swivelled his chair around to grab a thick folder from his shelf. "We don't want everyone taking a look at the material you're about to carry out."

That was Paolo's cue to leave. Dejan was too nice to just say it, but Paolo knew better than to overstay his welcome, especially since Dejan wasn't exactly supposed to be handing out autopsy and crime scene photos to any Joe that walked in from the street. 

"Are you going to be okay, Stankovic?"

Dejan nodded, smiling a little and tugging at his ear. "This is my job, Maldini. Don't worry about me -- you get this thing."


	3. Chapter 3

Paolo slapped the folder onto the coffee table, eliciting a much louder bang than even he had hoped. Andrea's attention was torn from his book, while Sandro jumped up like a rocket mumbling something about damn crusaders and their tricky armor. Paolo gave them both looks and nodded as he walked away. "Oh yes. We've got a problem."

Andrea reached for the folders and began to flip through them anxiously as Paolo dug around in the refrigerator for something to snack on. "How many more?"

"Two. A boy and an older man. Andrea, the pictures are a little...."

Paolo turned to see that Andrea had already pulled out his glasses and had wasted no time beginning to analyze the wounds.

"Paolo, this one... this one doesn't match the wounds on the woman."

Andrea held up the photos of the older man, his face very concerned. "These bites, these scratches, these... they're just regular Horde demons. Hellish soldiers."

Paolo tore the photo from Andrea's hand and looked at it carefully. "What the fuck...?"

"And it's not just one," Sandro said, peering over his lover's shoulder at the photo. "Look, the bites vary in size too much."

Andrea seemed to glare a bit at Sandro, but agreed. "Definitely more than one. This is highly unusual, I don't need to point out, Paolo. The Hordes don't just leave Hell. They have no individual intelligence. They're like animals and pack animals, at that. They have to follow a leader."

"Eurynome?" Paolo said, his eyebrows raised as he looked up at Andrea.

The researcher shrugged. "One possibility. As a Prince of Hell, he would definitely be awarded a few legions. But then again, whatever called up Eurynome might have counted on his soldiers following..."

"Not a comforting thought..."

Andrea shook his head, "Not at all. That would take some serious planning on the summoner's part -- foresight that I was hoping not to have to add to the equation."

Sandro took a deep breath. "So what you're saying is... we need some weapons. And fast."

Andrea laughed. "Some? I'd say a lot more than some."

"Well, I am not sure I like the sound of that … Sandro? Up for some shopping?" Paolo nudged his thigh against the demon's who just grumbled incomprehensibly.

"Come on, let's go. The sooner we get this over and done with, the better." Paolo got up and walked to the door, rolling his eyes at his lover who took his sweet time stretching and generally just being a pain in the ass.

"Paolo?" Andrea had followed him to the door and was softly touching his arm, a piece of paper and an impressive bundle of bank notes in hand.

"Here's a list of what supplies we need to stock up on anyway - one would think we had bought all the rock salt of this city up to now," he said with a small smile, pushing the list plus the money into Paolo's coat pocket. "This should be enough to pretty much buy the whole shop. I... Paolo, you know I don't care about the money, but I care about you." The slighter man felt the heat rise in his cheeks but didn't duck his head this time.

"This... thing, and the fact that he probably has at least a legion of demons at his call - we have never faced something like this before. You have never faced something like this before. Get only the best, you hear me? I'll go to the Cathedral and visit with the priest, we are running low on Holy Water, too."

Sandro pushed his way between the two before Paolo could reply, asking, "Anyone seen my hat?"

"God, Sandro. This thing is old and hideous," Paolo complained absentmindly but gave him the old, shabby cowboy hat the demon insisted on wearing pretty much whenever they left the house.

"What, do you hear me complaining about you driving a car that is older than yourself?" Sandro put on his jacket and was already out of the door.

"One must wonder how he could have been an successful incubus for so long with his lack of style," Andrea snorted and put the car keys into Paolo's palm with a small smile.

"Only the truly great can appreciate a '67 Chevy Impala," Paolo answered with a smile of his own and, as usual, ruffled the other man's hair before he left. "Don't get yourself in trouble while I'm away, Andrea."

"Pot and kettle, Paolo. Pot and kettle."

Andrea's laughter followed the demon hunter out to his car.

\----

"What has he been on about again? Trying to make you reconsider and come back to the pleasures of being a good, devout Catholic?" Sandro asked, idly tapping his fingers on his thigh, rock music blaring from the car stereo.

"My, my, someone's sensitive today." Paolo rolled his eyes and sped up again as the traffic light switched to green.

"Excuse me, but for some reason the church is convinced I am an evil, harmful entity out to get Catholic souls, when really, I could care less about their faith." Sandro grinned and reached out to skip to the next song, just to get his hand slapped away.

"You know the deal, no messing with my music, Incubus." Paolo pulled into the alley leading down to his trusted arms dealer. He parked the car at the back door and got out, checking his pocket for Andrea's money before leading Sandro to the front of the house.

The dim room they entered was empty, but they could hear someone moving around out of sight.

"Gennaro? You're here?"

A rather small, sturdy man appeared from behind the curtain and broke into a huge grin as he saw his customers.

"Ah, long time no see, you two. I wondered whether the demons had finally gotten you, Paolo. Well, the other sort anyway." His rumbling laughter filled the room as he scampered around them to the door and switched the sign from 'open' to 'closed'.

"What do you need? What are you hunting for this time?"

"If I could tell you, I would. We're not really sure yet, so best just load me up with the most effective things you have. Oh, and Andrea made a list, too."

Gennaro nodded and took the list from Paolo, examining it as he hurried into the backroom again, shouting for them to follow him.

He was darting from left to right and back again, piling stakes, what appeared to be an army's stock of ammunition (silver, rock salt, sub-calibre), six guns, a rifle and a set of different knives onto the table in the middle of the room, then added everything Andrea had jotted down.

"Oh, and you might need that one, too." He stood on his tiptoes as he reached for a wooden box on one of the upper shelves, huffing as he set it down next to the weapons already on the table.

"Sport cross bow, modified, manufactured by yours truly," he beamed proudly and looked about to clap his hands in excitement before he opened the wooden case and took out the surprisingly small weapon.

"Perfect handling - light, but precise and a sweeping success against evil," the man laughed again and pretty much tossed the weapon to Paolo who caught it easily enough, examining it carefully before he took one of the arrows Gennaro offered him and tried shooting the target at the far end of the room.

"Wow."

They all stared as the arrow found its mark, and embedded itself halfway into the dummy's chest.

Now Gennaro did clap with excitement. "Made with you in mind, Paolo." He vanished behind a set of shelves again and produced a couple of dozen arrows, pointing out which kind to use against which demon.

"Well. I think we should be set with this, no?" Sandro asked with a raised eyebrow as he looked at the arsenal on the table. "I hope you have a big box for that."

Gennaro packed up all the weapons and charged the two other men for their special little shopping trip, the bundle of money a good bit lighter as the three of them had loaded all of the purchases into the black car.

Paolo was about to get in when Gennaro called out for him again and tossed him a small tightly, wrapped package.

"For Andrea. Oak from an relatively undisturbed patch of wood out in Romania. Make sure he gets it. Been asking after some for a couple weeks now. Paid out the ass for it, too!"

Paolo nodded his thanks and tucked the parcel into the inner pocket of his coat. "It will make its way back to Andrea, promise."

The shop owner nodded once and disappeared inside again without another word.

The car was awkwardly silent from the moment Paolo and Sandro slipped inside. Sandro reached a hand over and began to play with Paolo's hair as his lover started the car. After a few moments of silence, he said, "Paolo, I know you think these things will protect you -- you and me and Andrea -- but I don't think..."

"Sandro, don't. I know where you stand on this and I... can't agree."

The incubus ran a single finger along Paolo's jaw, before slouching back in his seat. "You trust Andrea's research so completely, but you won't listen to a word I say."

Paolo shrugged it off and turned up his music, almost drowning out the frustrated sigh that Sandro gave a moment later. Driving away from Rino's as quickly as the law would allow (it would have done nothing for Dejan's nerves to have to pull over what he perceived as the city's only defense against the forces of evil for something as silly as a saved few minutes), Paolo made it a point to pull up to the nearest book shop, leaving the car on for Sandro, who pouted and turned to look out the window.

Paolo shook his head and headed straight for the laughably labeled "occult" section, scanning the titles for something.... Aha! There was today's purchase. "Practical Demon Protection for the Vigilant Christian"! The blurb on the cover declared it "ALL THE KNOWLEDGE YOU'LL NEED TO PROTECT YOURSELF FROM MANY COMMON PESTS!" Paolo had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing as he thumbed through the surprisingly thick book, amazed that anyone still believed that garlic repelled vampires. Andrea would love it. The researcher had a bit of an obsession with reading the less-than-accurate bullshit that seemed to line bookshelves now and Paolo was always eager to surprise him with something new and deplorable whenever he had a little time. Adding a few "popular Paganism" (as bad, if not worse than the drivel the Evangelicals put out) titles to his little pile and a thick pseudo-academic study of the Cathars, Paolo made ready to leave.

Just as he pulled out his wallet to pay the bored cashier, Paolo's eyes caught on a young man in the aisle he'd just left. He was short, and having a rather hurried telephone conversation, but was otherwise not extraordinary and Paolo wasn't sure what made him so... interested in the young man. Paolo handed over his credit card, but stayed as quiet as possible, hoping that the boy's voice might carry.

"I understand... Sir, I just don't think... these books don't seem to be very helpful in this situation... Sir? Yes, Sir. I know."

Paolo bit his lip and thanked the young man behind the counter, taking his bag and walking out of the store, fighting the urge to turn around and watch the boy make his final choice. Paolo rolled his eyes as he caught Sandro singing along to whatever annoying pop song the demon had switched on in his lover's absence and threw the bag into the trunk. Just as he slammed it closed, he noticed the young man running (RUNNING) out of the store, the cell phone still pressed to his ear. Paolo caught none of his words, but the look on his face was just worried enough that Paolo made a note to have Andrea ask around the local ghost hunting rings to see if the poltergeists in the area had been acting up in response to the increased demonic forces.

"Took you long enough," Sandro said, as Paolo slipped back in, before the demon continued his frighteningly accurate rendition of "I Think We're Alone Now".

+

"This is yours, bookworm," Sandro laughed, tossing the tiny package of Romanian oak at Andrea as they began to sort through the weapons and supplies. Andrea clutched the little parcel to his chest and hurried back to his room, awkwardly quiet when he returned.

Paolo handed him the book bag, which seem to lighten his spirits a little, enough to plant a small, chaste kiss on Paolo's cheek.

Sandro glared at him from behind a huge pile of silver-tipped bullets, walking around quickly and sitting down in a more visible chair, "You know what, Andrea? I might have a book you'd like to read."

Andrea's eyes were bright with excitement. "REALLY?"

"Oh yes, my dear! Have I told you 'Daemons Upon This Earth' had been written after a close relative of mine slept with the writer? I'm sure you'll love it. Quite a standard text back in the 1800s. There's a most fascinating part in it, I think it goes like this: "the incubus often proved to be a nasty lover, with a sexual organ that was painfully large, freezing cold, made of iron, or even double-pronged." Sounds an awful lot like someone didn't appreciate all he got, doesn't it? And believe me, he got a lot." Sandro gave a wide, childish smile and Andrea took a step back from Paolo, quickly.

"Oh. I think I might have a copy, actually."

Sandro didn't fail to notice Andrea's eyes flicking down between his widely open legs. "I have an original. If you're interested in something a little more... first hand."

Andrea swallowed hard and rushed off with his new books.

"What? Are you not going to help us unload?"

Paolo whacked Sandro hard on the back of his head. "You're an ass, you know that. And you know perfectly well that's all --"

Sandro jumped up and kissed Paolo hard. "I might be an ass, but you love it. I'm just having some fun."

Paolo picked up the new bow from Rino and headed in to show it off to Andrea, rolling his eyes at the frustrating incubus.

"Hey Andrea, look! Rino made..." Paolo stopped when he saw the huddled form of his best friend sitting in the corner of his bed, stacks of books surrounding him like a fort.

The younger man was flipping through the biggest of the New Age books Paolo had bought for him, but looked unusually disinterested.

"Andrea?"

The researcher looked up and attempted a light-hearted smile, but failed spectacularly. Paolo carefully walked closer, dodging the stacks of books that were pretty much covering the entire floor.

"You know, that book is one of the most hilarious yet, I think. They're actually advising people to eat garlic to keep vampires away, and to smear it all over the windowsills... The only thing that it will keep away are the spiders, though I guess that's just as well. And did you know you can control a Poltergeist by tying a red ribbon to every door? It'll keep them out," Andrea rambled on in a small voice and turned another page, avoiding Paolo's eyes.

The demon hunter sighed inwardly and went over possible curses to use against his lover - something to make Sandro's hair fall out, watch him try to charm he unsuspecting then. He laid the crossbow aside and gently moved some of Andrea's precious books off the bed to sit down beside him.

"Don't mind him, Andrea. He's an idiot."

"Shouldn't you be the one to have a problem with that? I mean, I'm obviously no-one's boyfriend, let alone a demon's, let alone Sandro's," Andrea threw in and fiddled with the blanket.

Paolo was at a loss at that and just pulled Andrea into an awkward hug. The slighter man slumped his shoulders a bit and leaned into his friend with a barely audible sigh before starting to laugh weakly. "God, I'm sorry. One would think I'd be used to it by now." Andrea turned slightly and poked Paolo's side. "So what is it Rino made?"

The demon hunter studied his friend a few seconds longer but let it go when he realised Andrea obviously did not want to talk about whatever was bothering him.

"He's been at it again, the loon," Paolo chuckled with a fond smile and reached for the crossbow.

"This thing is insane, it's got the same effect as a big one, but just look!" Paolo said excitedly and handed the crossbow over to Andrea, pointing out the spring mechanism and how carefully Gennaro must have assembled the whole thing.

"And it's so light, too." Andrea was staring at the weapon in his hand with a strange sort of fascination on his face. "Oh, did you know that the first crossbows came from China? But that they were invented around the same time in Europe, too? The oldest can be dated back to 300 BC, and... What?!"

Andrea looked up at Paolo who had shaken his head with a small smile. "Nothing, you're just ... a wonder, you know." The demon hunter chuckled affectionately and kissed Andrea's temple quickly before getting up.

"Come on, Andrea, the fool must have finished unpacking by now - I'm sure you did all sorts of research while we were away and are just dying to present it all to us, no?"

Andrea grinned with bright eyes and scrambled off the bed, darting through the room and pulling notes out of different folders and pointing to all the heavy books he couldn't reach on his own so Paolo would get them down for him.

"We are set." Andrea carried his precariously balanced research material through the doorway and into the living room where he laid it out on the coffee table as carefully as possible.

Sandro had been watching everything from the doorway, not saying a word, then went over and saved one of Andrea's precious books as it toppled off the table.

"Careful there, Andrea. Daemons Upon This Earth isn't the only book I know, and I happen to have heard that this one isn't exactly as easy to come by."

The demon ignored his lover's warning glare and plopped down on the sofa, tugging Paolo down next to him so that Andrea had to either sit on the floor or in the armchair. Or stand, which was the option the younger man chose.

Andrea pushed his glasses up his nose and opened one of the books, taking out two meticulously written pages of notes that had been marked with different colours. He carefully handed them over to the pair on the sofa.

"Red refers to the boy, and green to the older man. Actually, my books aren't too precise on the kinds of demons that make up the leagues of Hell, or how you can ban them, but then I had a closer look at the locations where all three victims were found and I don't know whether Dejan has already told you this but they were all relatively close to two particular freeway exits, and ..."

"Could you be any MORE circuitous, bookworm?! What kind of help is that supposed to be?!" Sandro rolled his eyes. "The last time I checked we were talking about DEMONS straight from HELL. I don't think you need freeways for that."

Andrea shrank back a little and quickly looked to Paolo who just shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Go ahead and just pretend he's not here. Makes life easier, believe me, I've successfully tested this little theorem."

The younger man gave him an hesitant smile and pulled out one of the city maps where he had noted down the various crime scenes.

"There are huge warehouses close to each of them, and I checked which firms use them, both here in the north and down there at the docks," Andrea pointed out the different sites.

"I mean, if you are hosting a party for half of Hell, you had better make sure there's enough room available, yes? Anyways, the list of firms includes four different ones: Miller Engineering, Shearer & Abramovich - who deal in wine -, Como Industries and Ibrahimovic Technologies."

"YOU SEE?" Sandro grabbed Paolo's shirt and pulling him closer. "ZLATAN IS BEHIND IT! HE'S GOING TO KILL US ALL."

Paolo shook his lover off and took the copy of the city map from Andrea's hands, "You're sure of this? Ibrahimovic Technologies is definitely working at these locations?"

Andrea nodded gravely. "I went down to the library to check on the permits on the warehouses. I couldn't find anything suspicious about the one near the boy, but the old man... there was a signature from one Zlatan Ibrahimovic. Purchased the land at quite a high rate back in 1963 from what I can tell and hasn't been in the mind to sell since. He's even made it a point not to rent out the otherwise empty warehouses to other companies. Well... until about a month or so ago, when he strangely started to lease out several of his excess storage spaces to Como Industries."

"New business deal? I have to say, Andrea, I don't find that bit suspicious in the least."

Andrea bit his lip, but nodded, "But the fact that Zlatan owns quite a large amount of storage space precisely where the bodies were found?"

"We'll just have to ask him about it, won't we?"

"Paolo! Zlatan is dangerous and now we have hard evidence that he's not been truthful and you're just ignoring it," Sandro whined, taking Paolo's hand and squeezing it tightly.

Andrea set down his map and started to turn away. "I agree with Sandro."

Sandro smirked and pulled Paolo a little closer. The demon hunter, however, was having none of it and stood up quickly, tearing himself out of Sandro's grasp and gathering up as much of Andrea's research as he could carry. "I get it. Neither of you trust him. That's fine. But I'm not going back on my word until I see Eurynome throwing a little soiree in Zlatan's bedroom... or you know, evidence that essentially equates to such a party."

Paolo retreated into his bedroom, leaving Andrea and Sandro alone in the living room. Sandro flashed another brilliant smile at Andrea, who rolled his eyes and headed back into his own room, locking the door as soon as it was shut.

"Wow. We're just party people here, aren't we?" Sandro said, falling back into the couch cushions with a sigh.


	4. Chapter 4

Paolo let out a long sigh as they turned the corner to find themselves wandering down yet another dark, gloomy alleyway. It was freezing and Sandro's warm body mere inches away was seeming more and more beautiful with every step. Although Andrea had given them a full weather report before they left (including projected average temperatures and chances of rainfall), neither of them had thought to carry an extra coat or God forbid, an umbrella. Now they were wet, freezing and still had four hours left to patrol the area.

"Paaaaaolo! I'm cold."

"So am I."

"You know... we could go home? And cuddle," Sandro added hopefully.

"When we find this thing, we can 'cuddle'," Paolo said, peering down a short side street. Suddenly, something larger than a rat passed through the beam of his flashlight and Paolo took several quick steps backward and pressed himself against Sandro.

"Right here? This place is little... gross."

"No, you idiot," Paolo said, "Is sex really all you think about?"

Sandro gave his lover a completely disbelieving look. "I am an Incubus."

Paolo grabbed Sandro's hand and pulled him to the mouth of the street and pointed in the direction that the shadowy figure had moved, "There's something... someone there."

Sandro paled a little, but nodded, "What do you need me to do?"

Paolo pressed his lips together and pulled out a long knife, pushing it in Sandro's hand, "It already knows we're here. There's nothing left to do except attack it outright. We have no element of surprise. But there are two of us and one, rather scrawny looking him."

Sandro closed his long finger around the offered end of the knife and smiled. "Whatever you say, boss. I'm ready for - HOLY SHIT, PAOLO!"

Paolo had already dashed forward, hitting something with the butt of the crossbow. The thing grunted loudly, but shuffled away without a problem. Sandro left his hiding place, pulling a second knife from his own little collection and twirling them both in his hands, blocking the way out if the creature wanted to make an escape.

"He's coming toward you! Can you see him?"

Sandro could see him and didn't waste a moment in slicing Paolo's knife through the air, missing the creature by an inch, maybe two, as he passed into a dark shadow. The knife fell loudly to the ground, but nothing could be heard from their prey, whose footsteps had grown silent.

"He went behind those crates, Paolo! We have him cornered..." Sandro smiled and tighten his grip on his own knife, taking a step toward the crates. "Let me have him. I haven't had the pleasure of the hunt in a few months. You've gotten them ALL."

Paolo came up beside his lover and nodded, but remained silent.

"I do hope he's a pretty one," Sandro laughed, taking a step closer. "The pretty ones always squeal so nicely when you let me..."

The creature jumped up at the moment, calling out for them to stop, but Sandro had already lunged forward, refusing to miss this time. The knife cut into flesh and Paolo could see the oily redness of blood even in the dark. Sandro was a skilled knife fighter and Paolo knew that this one didn't have a chance if Sandro took it in his mind to, like he'd said, bleed the pretty thing.

"See? They squeal." Sandro grinned and made for the final blow, but Paolo sprang forward and pushed Sandro with all his might, the demon taken by surprise as he stumbled to the ground, the blade clattering out of his hand.

"WHAT THE FUCK, PAOLO?!" Sandro hissed, eyes wide in astonishment, but Paolo had already jumped up again and was kneeling before the figure on the ground, who had his right am pressed against his chest and was trying unsuccessfully to keep in his anguished whimpers as blood oozed from a long cut on his forearm.

"FUCK!! Luis, LUIS! Focus on me, focus on me!" Paolo's hand was on the boy's face, and as he turned it towards him he could see real emotion in the smaller man's eyes for the first time - shock and utter terror.

Luis didn't even react when Paolo tried to explain to him that he would have to cut the cloth away to get to his wound. As soon as he saw the small blade in the demon hunter's hand though he flinched away and tried to scramble away from the other man.

"Don't kill me, I'm not here to harm you, don't kill me, please!" the boy whispered as he pressed his other hand onto the wound, wincing and shaking all over.

"We aren't going to kill you, Luis, it was a terrible mistake. We won't -- SANDRO, would you get your ass over here already, dammit?!" Paolo barked and peeled the boys fingers away from his injured arm, temporarily having dropped the blade.

Sandro whined, but came closer and kneeled down beside his lover, his flashlight now pointing at the young man's arm. "I don't know what the fucking problem is, had he been a demon I --"

"BUT HE IS NO DEMON, Sandro. And he didn't want to attack us."

Paolo kept whispering soothing words until he finally got through to the boy. Luis nodded almost imperceptibly and let Paolo cut away the sleeves of his jacket and shirt. The wound was deep and a good six inches long, but thankfully Sandro had missed any arteries. That didn't mean it wasn't bleeding profusely, though.

"Give me your shirt."

Sandro started to protest, but gave in at the glare Paolo shot him and quickly divested himself of it, putting on his wet jacket instead. The older man expertly cut it into strips and tightly bandaged the boy's arm, keeping up the incessant chatter until he could tell that the boy was slowly snapping out of it.

"There. Keep your arm still, Luis, we'll get you to the car and back to Zlatan, okay?"

The boy's eyes had gone wide with terror again, and then Paolo heard it.

Loud breathing.

Sandro spun around, his flashlight illuminating a huge figure. A demon. Eurynome.

The Prince of Death was huge, easily seven feet tall. His massive, black body was covered in sores and wounds, pus seeping out and into the fox skin that was draped around his form. There was the horrible stench of rotten flesh filling up the alley. The demon smiled, his flews baring long, sharp, fang-like teeth - he had felt the surge of power at Sandro's attack, had gotten scent of the boy's fear, and more importantly of his blood, and now he wanted to taste it.

Paolo had barely time to think as the demon moved forward at what seemed lightning speed. He drew one of his smaller daggers and sprung forward, rolling to the side as he threw it at the demon. But his hands were still slick from Luis' blood and the knife slipped a little, the blade barely grazing Eurynome's upper arm. The beast's attention shifted from the easy prey that was Luis to his attacker, Paolo crouching low and drawing another one of his knives. He released it just as Sandro pulled the trigger on Paolo's crossbow.

The demon screeched as both projectiles hit him - they didn't harm him all that much, but he had fancied an easier meal, and really, this city was full of delicious prey. He broke off the arrow and tossed Paolo's blade back at him, the demon hunter barely able to duck and evade it before the Prince of Death vanished just as fast as he had come.

"Paolo, Paolo! Are you alright?" Sandro hurried over to his lover, but Paolo was already getting up again, quickly picking up his weapons.

"Quick, we need to leave before he comes back!"

He scurried over to the human that had apparently gone back into shock. Together they were able to get Luis into Paolo's car and Paolo, for once dispensing with his rule not to speed, made his way to Ibrahimovic Technologies' main building.

+

They screeched to a halt at one of the entrances at the back. Luis had barely spoken on the ride, just pointing out where to take him, but there was some colour to his face again, and his breathing was less hitched then when they had left the alley behind.

Sandro and Paolo helped him out of the car, immediately surrounded by a handful of Zlatan's minions as they neared the building, but at a weak sign of the boy, they stood back, merely watching the scene instead of attacking right away to free their master's treasured proxy.

Luis walked as if in trance and led them into a low, scarcely illuminated, obviously private room, set out with plush yet elegant furniture.

The door at the other end of the room burst open and out came Zlatan, still impeccably dressed in slacks and a dark, dressy pullover, his face a mask of rage.

"OUT! ALL OF YOU!" He shouted at his men, the roar resounding throughout the room as he almost sprang forward and snatched his precious human from Sandro and Paolo. His henchmen left the room in a flurry and both the demon hunter and his lover were seemingly forgotten as the businessman easily scooped up Luis and carried him over to a settee.

"Luis, what happened?" Zlatan's voice was almost gentle.

The boy turned his unseeing eyes on Sandro and Zlatan took this as his cue. With a flick of his wrist the other demon flew through the room and hit the nearby wall, Paolo rushing to his side immediately.

"ENOUGH!" The demon hunter bellowed as he shook his befuddled lover and checked him for wounds.

Needless to say, his outcry would have fallen on deaf ears had Luis not extended a hand and entwined it with Zlatan's just as the demon made to strike out again.

"Zlatan, stop, please. They did not know."

The demon's bottom lip trembled in fury, but he nodded and leaned in to kiss Luis's forehead.

Luis smiled and cupped Zlatan's face in his hands, holding him only a few inches away. "I'm going to be alright, Master. I promise I'm going to be alright."

Paolo watched in terrible fascination, and suddenly understood very well why Luis had been so protective of Zlatan after Paolo's last visit. The Italian turned away quickly from their private moment and made to help Sandro up from the floor. The incubus was incredibly dizzy, though there didn't seem to be any serious injuries. His back would bruise over, Paolo was absolutely sure, but demonic flesh healed much faster than any human and Paolo had learned not to worry so much. Standing as much as he could, Sandro leaned into Paolo, shivering a little, clutching to his chest like a child, until he could stand on his own.

"Are you hurt, Sandro?"

Sandro shrugged. "I'll survive. Like I said, he's very powerful. What you could see... that was only half of his attack. The forces beyond your vision, those are the ones that do the real damage."

Zlatan now busied himself tracing Luis's face as the young man closed his eyes, giving in completely to his master's comforts. Paolo bit his lip and looked around the room, grabbing a thin blanket from across the back of a armchair and walking forward slowly to lay it across Luis's tired body. Zlatan hissed at the demon hunter, his nostrils flairing when Paolo dared reach across him, but Paolo held his hands up. "He needs to keep warm. I have a feeling he'll still be in a bit of shock."

"You did this."

Paolo shook his head. "What really did this was far more powerful than my partner and I."

Zlatan leaned forward and kissed Luis's cheek before standing. "Did you see it?"

"I think it's time that I get to ask some questions, if you don't mind!"

Zlatan pressed his lips together and let his eyes flicker back to Luis, but agreed with a quick nod.

"Who is he? Your boy?"

Zlatan visibly tensed, but answered, "He's a psychic of some kind. I found him... years ago. He was so young..."

"How young?"

"Too young!" Zlatan's eyes were like fire. "But he wasn't happy where he was and he followed me and now he is my..."

Paolo looked down at his shoes to keep Zlatan from thinking he needed any sort of explanation.

"Lover?"

Sandro had no tact, Paolo decided at that precise moment, as the incubus stepped up to join in their circle of conversation. His steps were much less certain than usual, his voice shaking just enough for Paolo alone to notice how terrified his Sandro had become.

Zlatan didn't even look at Sandro, knowing that if he did, the incubus wouldn't be around much longer. "The nature of my relationship with Luis is not an issue here. He is not as powerful as some. He can only see that which he has seen. Otherwise, his visions are hazy and untrue, full of Satan's lies. I did not hide him from you! There was simply no point in letting you know about him until there was something better to report."

Paolo disagreed strongly, but kept his opinion to himself. "He couldn't have tracked Eurynome?"

"Of course not!" Zlatan bellowed, no longer concerned with keeping calm even for Luis's sake. "Until he has looked into the eyes of the person he seeks, Luis is almost completely incapable of finding them!"

You looked into my eyes. Paolo's eyes widened as Luis' words after his first trip to Ibrahimovic's headquarters came back to him.

"He wasn't just out looking for the demon. He was tracking us," Paolo answered evenly.

Zlatan laughed, "Well, you surely didn't expect for me to simply let the two of you take completely control of the investigation. How was I to know that you were telling the whole truth?"

Luis shifted in his uneasy rest, his eyes opening again and staring directly at Paolo. They were not the black, emotionless eyes of a gifted human, but the loud, pleading and tired eyes of a boy. "Don't be angry with my master, Paolo Maldini. Zlatan doesn't think sometimes..."

Zlatan blushed a little and reached for his human's hand.

"I'm not angry with him, Luis," Paolo whispered to him, squatting down to look at him straight on. "I'm frustrated. If he can't trust me, how can I trust him?"

Luis's eyes clouded over and Paolo stood up quickly, taking a few steps back. "Zlatan, you will keep me informed of all your OWN investigations, just as I will be sure to tell you anything and everything that Sandro and myself find while we're working."

Paolo took Sandro's hand and started to leave, trying to ignore the hole that Zlatan's eyes were cutting into his back. "Don't follow us, Luis. You will find nothing interesting where I'm going. Just concentrate on finding Eurynome and we'll take care of the rest."

Zlatan could feel the boy squeezing his hand as if in answer to Paolo's words, then his breath evened out and he fell into a somewhat fitful, exhausted sleep. The demon watched the two men leaving with a sneer that was mostly directed at the Incubus and locked the door behind them with a flick of his wrist.

He then leant down and planted a kiss against Luis' forehead and whispered a few words into his hair that only those trained in the ancient tongues of the world would have understood. The man's sleep turned into a peaceful one instantly, a small smile playing at his lips as he breathed out his master's name.

\----

"PAOLO! WHAT HAPPENED?!"

The demon hunter hadn't even stepped into their apartment when Andrea was already examining his bloody hands, checking for wounds that weren't there.

"You are hurt! Are you hurt? We need to have a look at this!"

The slighter man pulled Paolo off into the bathroom with more might than one would have expected to find in the skinny researcher.

"Wow. Look, bookworm, the Incubus could be fatally wounded, too. I'm glad you worry about me that much, one could almost think you care," Sandro complained to the empty hallway as he closed the door behind himself and disgustedly peeled his bloodstained and wet jacket off his body.

\-----

 

~Three weeks earlier~

It was one of the city's most anticipated events, the grand opening of the museum's newest exhibition of African art and cult objects, the product of a multi-year shopping spree, funded by anonymous donations. The great hall of the museum was the perfect definition of a who's who.

Gianluca Zambrotta, CEO of Como Industries, was standing in the corner of the room, amicably chatting with the wives of husbands that were off discussing business. He was moving with effortless grace and easy smiles, a friendly hand laid against the small of the back, a slight, low chuckle after innuendoes that became more daring with every glass of champagne passed. Sophisticated, friendly, impeccable, focused. Handsome.

It was due to his charm and wit that he was more admired than envied, which was no mean feat -- especially in light of the sudden upturn in fortunes his firm had experienced in the last three years. How? No-one really knew, even though everyone was sure it had been his doing, and his only, a sharp mind hidden behind equally perfect face and demeanour.

Mr. Zambrotta excused himself with a wink and a laugh as he saw Zlatan at the opposite side of the hall. He was the man Zambrotta had been aching to talk to for the whole night now.

Skilfully evading the other guests, Gianluca made his way over to the tall, bored-looking businessman.

He had picked up two flutes of champagne as he went and was now handing one to the other man, an inviting smile on his lips.

"Mr. Ibrahimovic, why haven't we been officially introduced? Gianluca Zambrotta." The Italian extended his hand, smiling up at the other man.

Still rather bored-looking, the demon waved a waiter over to them and exchanged his glass of champagne for a tumbler of whiskey while he gave the man in front of him the once-over. Seeing that the other businessman didn't flinch and still held out his hand with an almost daring little smirk, the demon broke into a wide grin, finally returning the courtesy and grasping Zambrotta's hand in a tight grip.

"Well, good things come to those who wait, they say. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Zambrotta. What do you want?"

Still not thrown off by his counterpart's curt tone, Gianluca stirred the other man away from the crowd, carefully but almost imperceptibly, subconsciously avoiding both the members from the press and whatever disgruntled wife he hadn't charmed yet (or likewise had charmed too much already).

"What I want is surely no discussion of tonight's happenings as far as art is concerned. Mr Ibrahimovic, your reputation precedes you, and --"

"Oh, and what reputation would that be, Mr. Zambrotta? Indulge me."

"Well, the consent seems to be that your efforts are crowned with extreme success, thanks to your focus, determination and what people call devilish luck."

The taller man threw his head back and laughed. "Very clever of you not to mention the cunning, or the unscrupulousness. Mr. Zambrotta, before we waste this fine night even more you had better understand that flattery will get you nowhere with me. So, by all means, tell me, what is it exactly that you promise yourself from our little encounter?"

"If you are that well informed about your persona, I am sure you are just as well-informed about me. Obviously, we have the same field of work - I was merely wondering if we wouldn't merit from a closer collaboration. Or, as you will have it, from any form of collaboration to begin with."

The Italian stopped and raised his glass a little, laughing charmingly when he saw the first certain sparks of interest in Zlatan's eyes.

"I know you have done wonders in the past when it comes to finding remote resources of raw material. I have done wonders in getting to them. I am willing to pay you handsomely, Mr. Ibrahimovic, and I am sure we could find a comfortable business relationship we both would profit from."

"Well, you surely stick to your guns, Mr. Zambrotta. I can appreciate that." Zlatan reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and effortlessly produced his business card.

"I trust you to show up at 9 am sharp tomorrow, and we will talk about the scale of 'comfort' you have been thinking about in terms of our business relationship." Zlatan smirked and nodded at the Italian just once before leaving.

The night had been even more of a success than Gianluca Zambrotta had hoped for. He exchanged his empty champagne flute for a new one off a passing waiter's tray and toasted to himself, chuckling quietly.

 

~The Present~

Andrea was happy to wake up a lot earlier than either Paolo or Sandro. Paolo was good about waking to his alarm clock, but he always set his later and the incubus... well, he was just lazy and didn't ever want to wake up before at least noon. The few quiet moments in the early morning were what Andrea wanted. They gave him time to collect his thoughts, to schedule his day, to write a quick postcard back to his stressful parents assuring them that his trust fund was not going to waste. The apartment was silent outside of the scratching of his pen on the heavy paper and this was a comforting sound. That's why it startled Andrea so terribly when he suddenly heard quiet words drifting in from Paolo's bedroom. Neither Paolo nor Sandro talked in their sleep, Andrea would have noticed before this. The researcher swallowed hard and stood up from his desk, taking the few steps to Paolo's door with all the courage he could find.

"Vos ex sublimitatibus et profundis excito!"

Andrea could feel his entire body shiver a little at the sound. He bit his lip and pushed a single finger against the slightly open door, trying to see inside.

Sandro was leaning over Paolo, his eyes very focused, his hand pressed hard to Paolo's bare chest. His lips were moving rapidly, mere inches from Paolo's forehead. Andrea's eyes were locked on those lips, terrified by what they could be saying. He recognized the Latin, but it was going by so fast, so clearly... Andrea couldn't decipher the individual words. Without warning, Paolo arched up, his chest following Sandro's hand up a full arm's length. The demon hunter moaned deep in his throat before falling back to the bed, continuing on with his sleep. Sandro kissed his sleeping lips quickly and looked up, catching Andrea's eyes. The incubus shook his head and climbed out of bed, not bothering to put on anymore clothing than the boxers he'd been in. Andrea instantly recognized them as Paolo's.

Andrea flew back from the door, taking several steps back, his eyes wide when Sandro came out.

"Are you afraid of me, Andrea?"

Andrea pressed his teeth together hard to keep from saying anything too quickly.

Sandro laughed darkly and reached out a hand for Andrea, "You're hilarious sometimes, book--"

Andrea pushed forward, not even sure of what he was doing himself and held Sandro painfully against the wall. "What the fuck did you just do to him?!"

"Maybe if you stopped spying on people, your pathetic little heart wouldn't need so much reassurance. Maybe you'd find time to fill in that unfortunate knowledge gap you seem to have about PROTECTION SPELLS," Sandro hissed the last words like a poison.

Andrea tightened his grip on Sandro's shoulders, not wanting to believe he would have made such a mistake.

"For someone who prides himself on knowing everything, you've sure missed a few major facts. I LOVE HIM."

Andrea could feel his cheeks absolutely burning with embarrassment.

"Why would I hurt him? Tell me that, Andrea! Why would I hurt him?"

Andrea, for the first time in his life, could not think of an answer. Not even a theory came to mind.

"Let go of me, Andrea. Let go. You know I'm telling the truth." Sandro voice had returned to the smooth, almost seductive tone of his everyday speech.

Andrea let his hands fall to his sides and stepped back. "Why does he need a protection spell?"

Sandro shrugged, running a hand through his hair and taking a step back inside Paolo's bedroom, "Just a precaution. Why do you need that Romanian oak?"


	5. Chapter 5

Zlatan had always been a light sleeper. This was an essential survival skill, he argued, especially for someone in his position of power. He didn't dream, or rather had never remembered dreaming. And he didn't have nightmares. That's what made the sudden warmth at his side, the sobbing sounds that accompanied it and the sticky, wet drop of liquid onto his chest so alarming. There was no way it could be a dream.

Zlatan sat up quickly. "Luis?"

"Master, I can't see him!"

"Are you crying?" Zlatan snapped his fingers and a wide display of candles, every size every color, lit instantly, bathing the both of them in their ethereal light.

Luis's eyes were as black as Zlatan had ever seen them, thick rivulets of blood flowing down his cheeks. "Master, his mind is so quiet! It's like being in the dark. Always so dark!"

Zlatan shivered at his precious boy's words, and kissed frantically at his cheeks, wiping away the blood where he could, not caring about the red stains it would surely leave on his white sheets.

"Zlatan... he's blocking me. Someone doesn't want me to see him."

"Eurynome?"

Luis nodded slowly, the darkness in his eyes beginning to fade away as Zlatan's hands pulled him up against the demon's chest. "And his master. They're hiding. They know I'm looking."

"Then don't look," Zlatan whispered a little more harshly than he'd meant to. "I don't want you hurt. Not for Maldini's sake."

Luis pressed his face against Zlatan's bare chest, still sobbing quietly. "It was so cold."

Zlatan wrapped his arms tighter around his Luis, playing gently with the wispy hairs at the boy's neck. "You are always welcome to stay with me. You know that. I promised long ago that I would take care of you..."

"Can you protect me from this?"

"I'll do my best," Zlatan promised, kissing his lover's forehead.

Luis smiled like the boy that he was and kissed his master full on the lips.

Zlatan sighed into him and leaned his boy back into the bed, before laying his head on Luis's chest and licking at a barely erect nipple.

Luis giggled a little. "Zlatan, not NOW!"

The demon groaned, and gave the nipple a little bite. "Please? You can't deny me after coming into my bed, looking so absolutely delicious!"

"I've just been through a trauma! Do you really think that sex is the answer?"

Zlatan came up and kissed his boy so thoroughly that they both were out of breath when they finally parted. "Sex is the answer for almost everything. I promise it'll make it better."

Luis blushed and wiped at his wet cheeks. "You're terrible!"

Zlatan smirked. "You love it."

He snapped his fingers and all but the closest three candles extinguished themselves, keeping Luis's gorgeous face gold with light as the demon slipped his hands down that surprisingly eager body. "And even it doesn't make YOU feel better, it will put ME in a better mood. After all, you're depriving me of my recommended eight hours of sleep!"

+

Paolo stumbled out of the bedroom a good forty minutes later, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his hair a mess. Sandro had opted to stay in bed a bit longer because "unlike others, I have all the time in the world."

The demon hunter leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen, watching his friend putter around the room and fixing breakfast for them. The researcher risked a short furtive glance, not wanting to be too obvious in his perusal of the other. He knew Sandro had told the truth about the protection spell, but ...

"How are you, Paolo?"

"Oh, I am fine, if a bit ..."

"Sore. He's probably a bit sore, but I doubt he'll complain about that." Sandro had slipped up behind his lover and wrapped his arms around Paolo's naked waist, nuzzling his neck as he kept his eyes firmly trained on the researcher who was moving around hastily.

"'Sleepy' is what I wanted to say." Paolo rolled his eyes, but covered Sandro's hands with his.

"Do you want coffee? We've run out of coffee, I know you'd prefer coffee, I will get some while you get dressed."

Sandro snorted at Andrea's ramble and left while the researcher looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"You need to go to Rino's. We cannot let that happen again, Paolo, you could have been killed yesterday." Andrea was setting the table, leaving his eyes on the plates and cutlery. "The books don't tell us anything about killing or effectively banning that particular demon, but... I found some rather interesting spells in Sinistrari's De la Démonialité. If we use them on our ammunition, they might keep the demon away once he is hit, or at least give you the needed time to escape. The list is tagged to the fridge."

Andrea didn't wait for an answer and simply brushed past Paolo. He was out of the door the next moment, mumbling something about coffee again.

"What was that all -- God dammit, SANDRO!" Paolo wondered why he hadn't strangled the demon already.

+

"I wonder why Rino still lives in that shabby excuse of a house when with our money alone he could have moved up the East Side by now," Sandro complained as he carried three boxes of ammunition and arrows up the stairs to the apartment. Paolo was just examining the semi-automatic gun he had purchased from Gennaro when he heard his name being called.

The demon hunter spun around and held his hands behind his back like a guilty boy, stuffing the gun into the back of his trousers.

"Mr. Maldini! Mr. Maldini, it is so good to see you. Mr Nesta." The woman who had called nodded curtly to the demon before turning back to Paolo.

It was Agatha Whitlock, their landlady. Their incredibly nosy landlady. The woman was in her fifties and had taken a special shine to Andrea who she deemed too skinny for his own good.

"Mr. Maldini! Paolo. I haven't seen either of you in at least two weeks, but I need to talk to you. You are such a responsible young man, surely you have seen that it cannot go on like this."

Paolo shot a glance to Sandro who just shrugged and tried to hide exactly what he was carrying up the stairs.

"Young Andrea is but skin and bones! Such a good boy he is, but really, he needs to eat, you must see to that, Mr. Maldini. You are the older of you two." She bustled into her apartment again just to reappear carrying a huge tray full of pots and pans and bowls full of stew and chocolate pudding and other homemade delicacies from her kitchen - all of it being sure to feed at least five.

"Take this upstairs, will you, and I won't take no for an answer. And tell him he can come around whenever he likes, I won't mind fixing him a quick snack, or some of his favourite dishes. I think he needs to be fattened up a bit."

She didn't say it, but it was pretty obvious that the words "because you are obviously always gallivanting around, leaving the poor boy to his own means" were on her mind.

"Mrs. Whitlock, you are heaven-sent, clearly. Thank you for your concern and for your excellent care. I am sure it will be delicious and Andrea will be over the moon, and of course I couldn't agree more, he does look a bit skinny. Thank God we have you to take care of us, you are a wonder."

The landlady nodded and broke into a smile before shooing both men off so they could see to the "fattening up" of "young Andrea".

"Jesus. You charm old women. Great, Paolo."

"Well, goes a long way of telling why I'm with you, doesn't it," Paolo replied and carefully tried to balance all of the food. "Andrea should be glad it was us who ran into her, not him. I doubt he'd have escaped her clutches as easily as we did. Speaking of clutches, you don't happen to have seen my copy of "Demonology of the Middle Ages", do you?"

"What, do I look like I need your books?! I bet I know more about the matter than any book could ever tell you!"

Paolo snorted and rolled his eyes. "I was just asking, is all. Haven't seen it around for a few days, and I wanted to finish it so I could return it to Andrea."

They had reached their apartment now, but neither could get to their keys, so Sandro impatiently rang the bell with his elbow.

The door opened, and instead of a greeting Paolo and Sandro were hit by a load of information about the Hordes from Hell.

"... The different legions answer to their respective leaders as a whole, although other sources suggest that there are various ranks in them as well, ..." Andrea hadn't even looked up from his book, but was wandering into the living room again while Sandro pushed his way into the hall and Paolo followed suit, careful not to crash into his lover and spill all the precious food their landlady had provided.

"Despite the fact that texts are hazy at best, the multitude of mentions the Main Legions receive…"

Sandro had simply rolled his eyes and vanished into Paolo's bedroom to sort through their purchases, whereas Paolo did at least try to pay attention to his roommate while he carefully set down the tray on the kitchen table.

"Further evidence for that can be found in…"

Paolo peeked around the doorframe to find Andrea still walking up and down the living room, reading out the chapter.

"Andrea?"

"... although it is very unlikely…"

"ANDREA!"

"Huh?"

"Have you eaten today?"

"Oh."

Paolo chuckled at Andrea's blush and waved him over. "Mrs. Whitlock has been on kitchen duty again."

Andrea eyed all the food that was now resting on their table. "Wow."

"Indeed. Wow. Now get ready for dinner, this food needs to be eaten."

Andrea was about to leave the kitchen when he turned around again. "Paolo? I've found 'Demonology in the Middle Ages' behind the sofa cushions - I put it in your room, in case you are looking for it. And next time, do show some respect for the book, even though this was only a reprint."

Paolo could do nothing but shake his head and smile as Andrea left the kitchen.

The three of them rarely sat down for a real dinner. Paolo and Andrea both had their own kind of work and Sandro was practically addicted to night time sitcoms and stand-up comedy and couldn't be bothered to sit at the kitchen table for much of anything. But tonight, Paolo just needed to relax (both Sandro and Andrea could see it in his eyes) and they didn't put up much of a fight as the older man set the table and insisted they sit and enjoy some of the old woman's food.

Sandro plopped a sad looking lump of mashed potatoes on his plate and drowned it in the still steaming brown gravy, staring at it with contempt before reluctantly taking a bite.

Andrea's eyes went wide. "Do you actually NEED the food?"

"No?" The incubus chewed awkwardly at a very lumpy bite, rolling his eyes at Andrea.

"Then why are you eating?"

Sandro glared at Paolo, who was rather enjoying a slice of roasted chicken. "Because I'm hungry."

"But you just said you don't need food!" Andrea looked more distressed at this moment than Sandro had ever seen him, the younger man jumping up to Paolo's distress and grabbing a tattered notebook from the shelf, opening it to a seemingly random page and starting to scribble in it madly.

"I don't," Sandro said, his eyes still fixed on Paolo, still icy cold. "But SOMEONE is too wrapped up in his latest case to be of any HELP."

Andrea dropped his pen and glanced back and forth between the two of them for a moment, before picking the utensil up again and making another quick note. "Oh.... So, does the food actually HELP any or is it just a cheap substitute for Paolo's orgasm?"

Paolo chose this exact moment to choke on his whole wheat role, doubling over the table, bright as a tomato.

Andrea rolled his eyes and muttered something about scientific curiosity, but was cut off by Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries"... his cell phone ring.

Sandro stared at the phone in horror. "ARE YOU ACTUALLY GOING TO ANSWER THAT?"

The incubus was not especially good with technology.

The researcher answered the phone without a problem (Sandro found himself incredibly relieved for some reason), but paled almost immediately. "Yes, Officer." Andrea handed Paolo the phone as though he were handing multi-million dollar property. "It's Officer Stankovic. He's... he's got news."

Paolo grabbed the phone and pressed it to his ear just in time to hear Dejan yawn loudly on the other end. "Are you alright? Where are you?"

"Please, Paolo! I haven't left the office in a couple days. There's... there's a lot of weird shit going on, Maldini. Everything... it just seems like everything's coming down on us at once!"

Paolo nodded, mostly to himself. "That'll be the horde demons. The legions."

"Excuse me?"

"I'll explain later. What's going on?"

There was a noticeable hitch in Dejan's voice. "The body. The woman? Her body... it's just gone."

Paolo was out of his chair in an instant. "Do you think you can smuggle me in at this hour, Dejan? I could be there in thirty minutes, and if nothing else, I can at least confirm it's Eurynome we are talking about here."

The officer sounded dead-tired as he sighed and told Paolo that he had already gotten copies of the surveillance tapes for the exact same reason.

The demon hunter hung up and quickly told the other two what had happened.

"Andrea, if you could have a look into that - I mean, we know that Eurynome feeds on carrion, but it still seems unlikely for him to break into the morgue just to steal the bodies of his victims for some last snacks when we are living in a city with more than three million people to feed on."

"Looks like I have to indulge some more in mashed potatoes and gravy."

Both Andrea and Paolo rolled their eyes and ignored the demon.

"I'll see what I can find out, although I haven't run into anything on my research up to now." The slighter man rushed into the kitchen again and soon emerged with a carefully wrapped paper bag.

"Some of Mrs. Whitlock's bounties - Officer Stankovic surely sounded like he needed something to tide him over. You know him, he's probably been living on coffee and coffee alone in an attempt to get this case over and done with as soon as possible."

"Mother hen," Sandro said and wandered into the living room where he plopped down in the armchair and switched on the TV to get his daily dose of stand-up comedy.

"Saint," Paolo smiled and took the bag before ruffling Andrea's hair and shouting a quick, irritated good-bye to his lover.

Forty minutes later, Officer Dejan Stankovic ushered the demon hunter into the back door of the police station. The Serb looked worse for wear - he had definitely slept in these clothes (if he had slept at all) and it had been at least two days since he had seen a razor.

"Are you trying to win Laura over with your rugged, manly man charm now?" Paolo teased good-naturedly as he sat down on the chair opposite Dejan's desk.

"Ha. Ha. I guess I'd be more successful if I pulled your 'brooding, tortured soul' rendition of teenage angst, aged 35," Dejan smiled lopsidedly and sat down with a sigh.

"I'm not sure you could pull it off. Your pursuits have always been clearly defined, Dejan." Paolo smiled and bent down to pick up the two paper bags he had been carrying. "I got you some coffee, and there's food as well, Stankovic. You need to keep your energy up, and not only for the sake of all those lonely women out there."

"Why, you were worried! -- Andrea?"

"And the landlady."

Dejan chuckled and nodded his thanks before turning in his seat and switching on the small TV that sat behind his desk.

"It happened at 4.35 this morning. We've got surveillance practically everywhere. The hallway to the morgue isn't monitored, so I cannot tell you whether he - it, if it's that demon of yours - used this way to get in. All we have are some hazy pictures of the morgue itself."

The Serb pushed play and Paolo could see the mortuary. Stark, white striplights, tiled walls, six stainless steel tables in the middle of the room, four of them empty. The woman's covered body lay on the second to the right. Then the picture flickered for a moment and he saw a huge, dark creature creep up on the table. Another interference, and then there was the demon, bending over the woman's body. In a blur, both the body and the demon vanished. The whole scene had barely taken a minute.

The officer pushed stop.

"So?"

"It's Eurynome, there's no doubt about it. I take it there's nothing else? No fingerprints? Nothing?"

"Just this video and another one of a boy who was loitering around outside. He looked really nervous, tried to peek into the windows, then rushed off around quarter to five. -- Paolo, what does that Eurynome want? He's not... He's not going to feed on the rest of that poor woman, is he?"

Dejan looked like he was going to be sick and shifted in his seat.

"I honestly don't know, Dejan. But it could be, seeing that he feeds of dead bodies, but... Dejan, that seems like an awful amount of trouble to be going through, especially for a powerful demon who has a whole city to roam."

"Then what does he want?" The officer passed a weary hand over his face.

"I have no idea, but I've already asked Andrea to look it up."

Dejan swallowed hard and nodded curtly before he abruptly turned around and exchanged the video for the next one. He was drumming his fingers on the desktop so nervously that Paolo was tempted to cover the Serb's hand with his own, just to get him to calm down a little.

Instead, he fixed his eyes on the video. At first there was nothing but what appeared to be the side of the building. A boy came running up to it, keeping his head low. He was nervously checking his mobile and biting his nails before he turned around and stood on his toes to have a better look into the windows. That's when Paolo got his first real glimpse of the boy's face.

Paolo took in a sharp breath.

Dejan's eyes flitted over to him.

"You know him?"

"I think I do..." Paolo said and watched the rest of the video, which was as Dejan had described. "Do you have better shots of his face?"

The officer nodded and took two photos from his desk, handing them over to the demon hunter. "The department has been working on enhancing the videos and is currently trying to identify the boy. You can have these, if you want."

Paolo took the pictures and nodded. "Thanks. And yes, that's definitely the boy I saw the other day. You know that bookstore up on High Street? I was buying stuff for Andrea when he got my attention - he was on his phone, apparently with his boss who wanted him to buy books on the occult, all pretty useless, if you ask me. Then he rushed out. Jesus, so it's not a poltergeist matter."

Dejan just raised an eyebrow.

"Nevermind. Dejan, can you give me a day? I'd like to see whether I can find the boy myself. I doubt he'd talk to anyone, let alone the police. Maybe, if I can track him down..." Paolo trailed off and looked at the pictures again. The boy was scared, terrified even, so much was clear. Maybe, if he went about this the right way, the boy would share what he knew.

"You ask an awful lot, you know that, right? A day is a lot of time, Paolo. Not only in terms of what that Eurynome can do. All the other forces have practically been working overtime for the last 48 hours - vandalism, we've had a good fifty cases of severely injured citizens, eight buildings went up in flames last night! This is mayhem."

"I know, Dejan, Eurynome brought horde legions, his own kind of army, but... I need you to trust me in this. If the boy isn't in the database, chances are that I will find him faster than you could."

Dejan sighed, but nodded, "His army?! I… Very well. One day. Call me immediately when you find something."

The officer got up, worrying his bottom lip, and walked over to the windows overlooking the city. When he turned around again, he was tugging at his ear nervously and shot Paolo an uneasy glance.

"He will come back, won't he? To get the other two?"

Paolo sighed and nodded. "It's very likely. But... Dejan, this is more than you can handle. Don't try to stop this from happening by having extra officers guard the morgue - there would only be even more deaths. There's nothing you can do."

It was pretty obvious that this answer didn't sit well with the officer who balled his fists at his side. The demon hunter got up and gave his shoulder a short, comforting pat.

"You know you can't prevent everything."

"But I'd like to try, and come to think of it, so do you, don't you?" Dejan almost snapped, then took a calming breath. "Sorry, it's just... and to know that I had such a quiet life before I foolishly decided to investigate what the brooding man who turned up at every crime scene was all about..." The officer gave Paolo a half-smile. "Thank you for coming over, and thank Andrea for the bread ration."

Paolo smiled and gave the Serb's shoulder another squeeze before picking up the pictures from the surveillance tape and making for the door. Before he left he turned around again and watched the officer who had gone back to staring out of the window.

"I know it's easier said than done, but do try to get some sleep. And don't do anything foolish, Stankovic. I still owe you a few drinks, if I remember correctly."

"Anything foolish. Pfft!" Dejan sat back down in his chair, the chair he used to think was so comfortable until he'd attempted to sleep in it, and frowned at the door Paolo had just left through. "What does he think I'm going to do exactly?!"

Dejan realized at this moment that he was talking to himself and glancing out the small window that looked out into the main office, hoped that Laura hadn't noticed that the work was starting to get to him. She liked to talk and he didn't need any sort of rumour going around that... he just didn't need anyone questioning him about the investigation, was all. He couldn't exactly explain that he was putting the ultimate control of the case into the hands of a man with no formal investigative training. Nor was he in the mood to explain exactly what Paolo's real field of expertise was. The majority of his force was fond of living in their little bubble, where all cases had perfectly natural, human answers. Sometimes it was a bubble he'd rather like to crawl back into.


	6. Chapter 6

Paolo had been waiting outside the book store long enough to drink two large Coca-Colas, eat the sandwich Andrea had packed for him that morning and listen to "Best of Queen" album that had mysteriously appeared in his glove compartment at least four times straight through with only two breaks for quick toilet runs. The little bastard from the video was simply not there and it was starting to piss off Paolo something awful. Perhaps he had taken Paolo's advice seriously and realized that the occult section at some random bookstore was of no help if you actually wanted to do something right. Maybe he was busy hitting up every other bookstore in the city while Paolo sat here like an idiot giving Freddie Mercury way more attention than he deserved this early in the morning.

Paolo flicked off his stereo rather violently and pulled the recliner staring up at his roof. "This was a bad idea, Paolo Maldini. You've had some bad ones, but this is just futile."

What were the options now? Staying here and waiting uselessly for the boy wouldn't help anyone. Andrea had probably been buried under books for hours now, going without sleep to find answers to their many questions. Could he help with that? Then again, Dejan put his career on line without as much as questioning Paolo's motives - if he returned to the officer to tell him that he hadn't been able to find the boy, they both would have lost a day that might be crucial to the outcome of this case.

"FUCK." He righted his seat again, having decided to head back to the apartment before trying his luck at the other bookstores. That's when he saw a simple, black SUV pull into a parking space three cars in front of him. The boy emerged, putting on sunglasses and checking the street before hurriedly entering the bookstore.

Paolo wasted no time following him.

As predicted, the boy was going through the books of the Occult section again, actually going for the books that weren't complete rubbish. Paolo wasn't exactly happy to see that some decent research must have happened since they last met. The demon hunter stepped up to him, close enough to whisper into his ears without having anyone overhear them.

"Do you think knowledge of how to deal with a Prince from Hell will be found here? You are a fool, indeed."

The boy stiffened at the hushed voice, and tried to duck away, but Paolo would have none of it, cornering him against the bookshelves.

"You must be Paolo Maldini then. Which makes you the fool for thinking I will tell you anything. We have known of you far longer than you have known of us. You should beware."

The boy elbowed Paolo to free himself, but the older man used this to his advantage, twisting the other's arm behind his back while he pressed the blade of a knife into the younger man's side.

"Who the hell are you? What is your business with the demon?"

"I won't tell you anything. You know that."

Paolo pushed the knife a little harder. "Do you WANT to die?"

The demon hunter could feel the boy's body tensing, but still his answer came as a sneer. "You won't kill here, Paolo Maldini. I'm even less use to you dead."

"If I don't kill you, Eurynome will, just that death by my hand will be more merciful. What is your name? Who do you work for?"

"You will see. This entire city will see soon."

Paolo could feel the blade cut through the cloth of the boy's jacket, could feel it meeting soft flesh.

"You have no idea what and who you are dealing with. Do you really think you will be able to control this?" Paolo snorted and pushed the knife a little harder. The young man winced as the blade cut into his skin, turning his head to glare at the demon hunter venomously. "Tell your master he is a fool. You still have the chance to give up. Go."

The young man stumbled over his own feet as Paolo pushed him away forcefully, betraying the fear he had tried to hide in the hurried movements that took him out of the bookshop again.

Paolo knew it would be useless to follow the boy. He'd be anticipating it, and even if he wouldn't, Paolo wasn't as dumb as to go into the enemy's lair without backup, without anyone knowing of his whereabouts. Utterly frustrated with how the day had progressed so far, he exited the bookstore and got into his car, slamming the door shut.

Maybe Andrea had found something. Paolo hoped he had, because it surely felt as if their time was running out.

+

The apartment that Paolo shared with Andrea and Sandro was usually pretty noisy. Andrea liked to listen to heavy Wagner while he researched, claiming it helped him concentrate. Sandro, in retaliation, would typically turn up his comedy specials to full volume and laugh louder than necessary at even the worst jokes in the programme. This is why it was particularly unsettling when Paolo pushed the door open and was assaulted with gorgeous, perfect silence. He started to take a deep, relieved breath when he caught sight of Zlatan Ibrahimovic, sipping tea on the couch. The demon smiled, which only made him a bit more frightening, and lifted his glass. "Your roommate makes spectacular tea!"

Paolo spun around to find Sandro and Andrea standing awkwardly together behind the other couch. It pleased Paolo to see Sandro's hand setting over Andrea's slightly protectively, as the incubus glared at Zlatan. Sandro might be a bitch the greater half of the time, but at least he had a vague sense of what was important in the grander scheme of things.

"I just came by to tell you that my Luis is doing much better. I won't have to kill you," Zlatan said, setting his tea onto the coffee table.

"That's good to hear," Paolo answered, still a bit nervous.

"However, he had no luck finding Eurynome. Whoever is controlling him... he's been protected somehow. Luis simply can't see where he is or what he's doing. Someone knows about Luis and his powers. Someone is blocking him."

"Is that even possible -" Andrea began, but Paolo's held up his hand and moved around to sit opposite Zlatan.

"I think I have a good idea of how we can find that someone," Paolo explained, pulling the folder of surveillance photos from his bag.

Zlatan's eyes narrowed a little and he shifted in his seat, as he took the photos from Paolo. Pulling them out, the demon snorted with laughter. "That's little Lionel Messi! He's an intern for one of my business partners! He couldn't hurt a fly."

Paolo took the photo back and stared at the seemingly innocent face. "Perhaps he couldn't... but he's working for someone who is willing to hurt a lot more than an insect. Who does he work for? And I swear to God, you better be telling the truth!"

"What? I thought it was clear that I am on your side, Maldini. You are still suspicious?" Zlatan narrowed his eyes, but started laughing a moment later. “Very well, that means I can trust you. Wouldn't want to deal with a moronic amateur. Not that you are one, of course."

The demon pulled out his wallet and presented Paolo with a business card. "That's Zambrotta. Gianluca Zambrotta. CEO of Como Industries. The man is ... sleek, no doubt, but he wouldn't be able to pull off something top-scale like this. Don't you think I would have noticed? I have been around much longer! And what could he possibly want from -- The bloody bastard!" The demon jumped up and slammed his cup on the table, the fragile porcelain shattering at the impact, pieces of it flying through the air.

"THAT LITTLE USELESS SHIT! Oh, that BASTARD is going to PAY," Zlatan said through gritted teeth. He had already reached the door when Paolo pulled him back into the apartment and managed to direct him back to the couch.

"What did he do? What is your business with him?" Paolo asked as calmly as possible as Zlatan tried to get up again, only stopped by Paolo's glare and Sandro's firm hand on the businessman's shoulder.

"Let. Me. Go. I have a score to settle with Zambrotta," Zlatan spat the name as he glared at the incubus and tried to jerk away.

"Then what would you do, Mr. Ibrahimovic? Try to take him on, on your own? Him and half of Hell that he has at his command?" Andrea had stepped forward, and only the way he avoided Zlatan's eyes told you that he was indeed more nervous than words could tell. His voice though was firm.

Paolo tried to shush his best friend with a glare, but the researcher would have none of it. "Knowledge is power, as you are well aware of, I'd imagine. With your knowledge of him and his quirks, the way he conducts his business, and what his aim is, we can win the upper hand. But there is literally no way in hell you will be able to do so without us. Likewise, we will be powerless without you."

Zlatan contemplated this for a few moments, then suddenly relaxed back into the cushions, shaking off Sandro's hand. The businessman looked back and forth between Paolo and Andrea before nodding slightly. "Very well. Your roommate has far more wits than your lover, I have to say. Maybe you should reconsider."

Andrea winced and ducked his head, grateful that Paolo's focus had been on both demons that were busy glaring daggers at each other, and not on him.

"The man loves power. He is persistent about achieving it. Zambrotta is a great charmer, from what I can tell both in private and in business, too." Zlatan huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "How the FUCK did I miss this... Como Industries conveys ore, oil - you name it, chances are that he will be able to ship it wherever you want. It goes without saying that playing dirty is part of his success - or should we say he is pushing the limits of legality a good bit to get the concessions for hard-to-reach areas?"

"And you never worked with him before?" Andrea, who had fetched a notepad and was busy scribbling down everything the demon said, asked hurriedly.

"No. No, it's the first time. And the last, quite obviously."

"This is good, this is good." Andrea had dropped down next to Zlatan and was seemingly ignoring Sandro and Paolo.

"That means he doesn't know your weaknesses - not that I assume you have any," Andrea was quick to add, blushing a little. "What is the nature of your business deal then? What is it all about?"

"South America. The Andes. You wouldn't believe the treasures that are still hidden in Chile. -- Well, neither does he. The fucker might think he has outwitted me, but how sadly fucking mistaken he is..." Zlatan sneered and kicked the leg of the coffee table to alleviate some of his anger.

Andrea nodded absentmindedly and mumbled to himself as he jotted down the last bits of information.

"Well, I am afraid you will have to tell us these secrets, as far as they concern that Zambrotta anyway. I will need copies of every transaction that passed between Ibrahimovic Technologies and Como Industries. Formal correspondence as well as informal letters, even if it's just a note for a business dinner. We have already found out about the warehouses at the fringe of the city - I need to know when his decision to hire them was made, and whether he made special demands. Blueprints of the area and security levels as well as keys and codes."

Andrea got up again and walked into his room, simultaneously assuring Zlatan that they could get the research done in one or two days if he just provided the needed information.

The demon, quite surprised by the change that had come over the skinny researcher, cocked his eyebrow and looked at Paolo who just shrugged. "You heard him. That is all I can say."

The businessman clicked his tongue and nodded curtly, glancing at Andrea’s door one last time and getting up, pushing his way past Sandro.

"Very well then. I will make sure you get everything he requested by tomorrow morning. If there is anything else you would need, you still have my number, I am sure." Zlatan grabbed his jacket and left without as much as a good-bye.

 

+

Gianluca had always prided himself on his style and taste. Furthermore, he had always prided himself on the fact that both came naturally to him, while others had to hire self-important consultants that often weren't worth their money.

His office would have fit perfectly into Résidence Décoration - wide glass windows overlooking the harbour, the stainless-steel-and-glass desk wide and imposing, dominating the room. A few select pieces of art were displayed in showcases all throughout the room, from ancient amphoras resurrected from the old harbour of Alexandria to an original publication of Luther's De Servo Arbitrio and various of Rodin's sculptures.

Gianluca Zambrotta loved art. But more than art itself, he loved what it added to his name, to his image. People called him sophisticated, an aesthete, a connoisseur. There was so much they did not know about him yet.

Gianluca recognised the furtive knock on the door to his office. Even after almost eight months of working for him, his intern (more like personal assistant) Lionel Messi had still not shaken off his awed worship. In fact, it had but grown.

It amused Gianluca. It was an incredible feeling of power to control the mind of someone blessed with such innocence, like Leo was (or had been, as the case was). He called Messi in.

"Sir, the newest information about the progress in your diamond mines in Botswana has arrived. They opened another shaft, productivity could be raised by almost 8 points."

 

Gianluca smiled to himself. It was good to know that by paying the right amount of money to the people that mattered, you could overcome everything, including environment and work safety guidelines. And if something happened? These were exactly the people you could blame.

The businessman motioned for Lionel to put the folders aside and then take a seat on the wide, black leather couch on the far side of the room. Gianluca sat down beside him and handed Leo a glass of wine, delighted by the blush it brought forth even before the boy had tasted the alcohol.

"Tell me, Leo," Gianluca started and rested a cordial hand on the boy's arm, feeling the tension radiating off Lionel's body. "Have you found suitable recruits already? Can I trust you to get the best?"

"Yes, Sir, just this morning two of them arrived from LA, if you wish to see them now, I could --"

"No, it is alright. They will be required to meet with me tonight at dinner anyway. Have you found the books I asked you about?"

Leo looked down into his glass, and his blush intensified tenfold. "I am sorry, Sir, they haven't gotten here yet. I had to ask Mr. Giggs to pick them up in Warsaw, they are the only copies out on the market and… I am sorry."

Gianluca's lips curled upwards at his boy's rambling and he tipped his head up with a careful finger to Leo's chin. Even that soft touch did nothing to erase the look of fear from the younger man's eyes; fear of having let down his master.

"If you can assure me they will be here this time tomorrow, I don't think there is a problem just yet. You can assure me that, can't you, Leo?"

The boy knew that technically, he couldn't, but found himself nodding fervently anyway. It was his job to do everything Gianluca wished.

+

Andrea had always hated that doorbell. It was shrill and high and it was all the worse at exactly 6:00 in the morning. He rolled out of bed with a huff, brushing his hair out of his eyes and wrapping a blanket around himself to keep from being entirely indecent. And GOD, if it was Cristiano again, desperate for milk for his disgustingly sugary cereal, Andrea would be forced to sic Sandro on him.

Not that Sandro (or Paolo) seemed to have noticed the bell. Passing their open bedroom on his way to the front door, Andrea couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the demon’s exquisitely long back, his body wrapped around Paolo’s, a thin sheet giving them only the smallest bit of privacy. Andrea swallowed, shaking his head at himself as the doorbell rang again. “Coming… coming.”

Andrea pulled the door open, ready to send away whatever religious fanatic believed six o’clock to be an appropriate time for “witnessing”. “What exactly do you --?”

The boy… man… boy on the other idea of the screen door was gorgeous, all tanned skin and a lovely smile with just enough facial hair to make him seem slightly dishevelled, despite the crisp shirt and pants he wore. “Hello, Andrea. I was hoping I’d get to meet you.”

The researcher took a step back and, keeping both eyes on the boy in front of him, called over his shoulder, “PAOLO. PAOLO, IT’D BE NICE IF YOU COULD COME IN HERE!”

“He’s not awake yet,” the boy said simply and walked past Andrea into the apartment and into the kitchen, as though he’d been there before. “Zlatan wanted to make sure you had this as soon as possible.”

The boy opened his briefcase and turned it around to let Andrea see the neat collection of papers inside, making Andrea’s eyes widen a bit. “YOU work for Zlatan? You’re…”

“Human, yes. And hi! My name’s Luis. Were you expecting someone else?”

Andrea shifted to his other foot, trying not to seem so surprised. “Luis? I just didn’t expect you to be so…”

“Young?”

“Something like that.”

Luis blushed a bit and reached out to touch Andrea’s hand where it rested on the kitchen cabinet. “If you’ll let me…”

Andrea started to pull away, but his eyes were captured by Luis’s deep black orbs. “I… what?”

Andrea felt a slight pull somewhere inside him and a sort of emptying, as though the darkness in the boy’s eyes was a kind of black hole, pulling him in until… until…

“Luis! I didn’t think that you would be coming,” Paolo said, rubbing his eyes as he entered the kitchen. “I didn’t think Zlatan would bother sending someone like you on such a tiny errand.”

Luis let his hand slip away from Andrea’s and smiled, coming forward to press a short kiss to Paolo’s cheek. “I suppose that’s meant to be a compliment. My Master trusts me to do his work correctly. Demons are demons after all, and they can’t always be relied upon to do even the simplest of tasks.”

Paolo reached up to touch his cheek, where the outline of Luis’s lips still burned coldly on his skin. “That’s the information then?”

Luis nodded and waved a hand towards the briefcase. “It’s everything. Everything you could possibly need to know about Gianluca Zambrotta and his dealings with Zlatan.”

“You didn’t leave anything out?”

“Most definitely not,” Luis said, pressing his lips together as though offended that the demon hunter would even suggest that his Master was being less than completely revealing. “We want him stopped as much as you do.”

"Andrea, do you want to… Andrea?" the demon hunter looked past Zlatan's lover to see his friend staring off into space.

The researcher blinked hard and absently reached for the suitcase on the counter, nodding, and mumbled something about starting the research right away now that he was awake, before he left the kitchen and entered the living room.

Paolo gnawed at his bottom lip and, after having told Luis to take a seat, busied himself making coffee and some tea for Andrea. While the sounds of the coffee machine filled the kitchen, he turned around again, watching Luis seemingly staring off into space.

"Whatever it is you saw, you are not going to use it against Andrea," Paolo said, a faint glint of anger in his eyes.

"My loyalty is to my master."

"And mine is to Andrea. He is a good person - not to mention that without him we wouldn't even know what we are up against here. If you hurt him, I will find you. I might not have your master's powers, but don't think that will stop me from making you pay."

Luis answered him with a grave nod before getting up and taking one of the cups out of Paolo's hand. "My intention was not to gain information to use against him or you. I am not the one hurting him." The smaller man left the kitchen without another word, leaving Paolo flabbergasted.

The demon hunter grabbed the tea for Andrea and followed Luis. Andrea had already taken over the whole living room - the suitcase stood abandoned at the end of the couch while meticulous stacks of papers had been arranged on the table, the floor, and the couch itself.  
Just as Paolo entered, Andrea emerged from his room, carrying reading material and paper and pen to take all the notes needed. He arranged himself on the floor and shot a glance at Luis who was sitting in a armchair, overlooking his activities.

"Will you be able to stay here, should further questions arise, or do you have to be back at Mr. Ibrahimovic's instantly?"

Luis smiled genuinely at Andrea's words and reached down to trace a gentle finger down Andrea's face. Paolo prepared to intervene, but didn't as he saw that Andrea didn't flinch away from the simple touch. Instead the demon hunter decided to make his presence known by putting Andrea's cup of tea on the edge of the table.

"It wouldn't surprise me if Zlatan demanded Luis returned immediately, Andrea," Paolo said with a clipped tone that bewildered even himself. Neither younger man seemed to notice, though, Luis just nodding mutely before he got up.

"My master needs me back by the hour. However, you will be able to reach me via phone at all times - not that I think that will be necessary. All information you need was gathered, and I will know when you need my help." Zlatan's confidant locked eyes with Andrea again for a few second before he said his goodbyes with a smile and made to leave.

Paolo followed him and opened the door for the younger man, just about to warn him off again when Luis laid a hand on his forearm and reached up to kiss him on the cheek, the touch of the other man's lips having the same effect as before. Paolo watched Luis descend the stairs, oddly reassured that he would not use whatever he had seen in Andrea's eyes to harm him.

The sound of shuffling feet brought him back to reality. He closed the door and turned around to see Andrea, looking at him over his cup of tea.

"He is cursed, Paolo."

"Sorry?"

"Luis, he is cursed. He saw into my eyes just as he must have done with you. Whatever it is he sees - this is no gift, it is a curse."

With that the younger man turned around again and went back to his research. Paolo contemplated talking to Andrea about this strange experience again, but decided to let it go as the other man seemed to take it far better than he had.

Paolo grabbed a bite to eat, making sure that Andrea had at least a bowl of cereals, before he left the flat to his roommate and his still blissfully asleep lover. He wanted to check whether anything new had happened the night before - maybe Rino had heard something, or one of Paolo's other informants.

+

"So basically, this Zambrotta guy owns half the city." Sandro plopped down on the only unoccupied chair in the living room and crossed his feet at the ankles, carelessly pushing some papers out of the way.

Andrea shot him a glare and turned around to Paolo who had just returned from what had been a rather fruitless round of making inquiries all over town.

"Paolo, this is serious! This is even worse than we had predicted!" The researcher cleared a bit of space beside him on the floor for Paolo to sit.

"Zambrotta's expenses in the last month have almost doubled, most of it not being retraceable. However, it looks like he hired at least two dozen specialists from all over the country, listed as certified accountants when at least two of them are in fact specialists on the occult, most of all old Jewish and Christian lore."

"Then why would he send that Messi kid into bookstores, raiding the occult sections? It doesn't make sense," the Incubus said, absently reaching out for some papers spread across the table.

"Would you leave your hands off that? Thank you," Andrea snapped with a bravado that was mostly born from nervousness. The more he learned about Zambrotta's perverse plan, the harder it got for Andrea to stay calm.

"As for your question, Sandro, he is probably trying to keep an eye on what is happening without having to trust all of these mercenaries." Andrea handed a sheet of paper to Paolo that held all the last transactions of Como Industries. "It's really fortunate that he underestimated Mr. Ibrahimovic, who obviously felt it necessary to screen every financial move of his new business partner. If he had just made better use of his knowledge…"

The demon hunter scanned the page - cash transfers of no insignificant amount to bank accounts all over the country, some of them to arms dealers, others to machine manufactures, others to unnamed personal accounts.

"What are these for, the ones that went to Ibrahimovic Technologies?" Paolo asked, pointing out three transfers on the list that had happened shortly after both firms had started to work together.

"The first one is the rent and deposit for the storage spaces, the other two were special payments because Zambrotta wanted to make some 'minor structural changes', as Mr. Ibrahimovic wrote." Andrea reached over to another stack of paper and presented it to Paolo. On it was a list of all the redevelopments that had taken place: top alarm systems, adding devices for assured soundproofness and bulletproofness - frankly, it looked as if Zambrotta had turned the warehouse into a high-security zone.

"But Zlatan has the necessary information for us to overcome these? Security codes, keys, blueprints of the new architectonic features?"

Andrea nodded and handed them over to Paolo. Sandro, who had remained quiet the whole time, leaned over to get a look at the blueprints.

"So that's all the information we need?" The incubus asked as his eyes scanned the information.

"Wrong, it's all the information we have," Andrea corrected him, then grabbed Paolo's arm.

"Paolo, we really cannot do this! Not with what little resources we have! From what we know, his army is at least 500 demons strong! Not that commanding one of the great Princes of Hell wouldn't be reason enough to worry - God only knows what other demons he has bound to himself by whatever dark magic he's been able to draw up! Plus he has the money and influence to equip them with everything they could possibly need - weapons, armour, knowledge - you name it, chances are that he has it!"

“What would you have me do then, Andrea? Stand around here and wait for someone else to take care of it?” Paolo said, his voice a mix of frustration and confusion and general worry.

Andrea looked down at his feet, his grip loosening on Paolo’s arm. “No, Paolo. I didn’t say that. I just…”

“Andrea, I know you didn’t. I just… I don’t know what else to do. We need to talk to Dejan. We need to get him up to date on this, see if he knows someone higher up that can get some accounts frozen. We need to cut off some resources,” Paolo said quietly, pulling away from Andrea.

Sandro stood up slowly and started for the door. “I guess we’ll need another visit to Gennaro, then? I have a feeling we’ll need a few more bullets.”

Paolo nodded. “If you could do that for me…”

“I’m already on it, my love.” Sandro laughed, trying to lighten the mood as he took his confident steps to the door.

Paolo turned back to Andrea. “At least Alessandro knows we’re going to make it through.”

“Sandro’s an idiot,” Andrea smiled, walking into the kitchen to get a refill on his tea. “I know you’re not going to give up, Paolo, but I think you need to be more careful. You went to that bookstore by yourself, almost completely unarmed? What would have happened to the rest of us if that boy had been watched? What would have happened if one of Eurynome’s little soldier demons had jumped out of the boy’s truck and attacked you?”

“In broad daylight?” Paolo said. “Andrea, I thought we had decided this Gianluca was a little smarter than that. And I wasn’t unarmed.”

Andrea smiled just enough for the corners of his mouth to perk up. Paolo sighed quietly and crossed the distance between them in the space of a moment. "You know I wouldn’t let anything too terrible happen, right? You know I watch out for myself. You know I watch out for you. Even when I’m off stalking little boys at bookstores."

Andrea looked up into Paolo’s eyes, a sudden shiver running down his spine. “I trust you. I just don’t trust the rest of the world to be as consistent. The rest of the world isn’t so simple. There’s always something to throw off all your plans.”

Paolo took the other man’s hand and squeezed it hard. “Andrea. You don’t have to be afraid for me.”

“Someone does,” Andrea said back quickly. “You’re never scared enough. That’s why I worry for you. Fear can be helpful in times like these.”

Paolo shook his head and lifted Andrea’s hand for a quick kiss. “You sound like an old man.”

“Well, you remember that little boy we exorcised who was possessed by Frederick the Great? You never know,” Andrea falsely joked, gently pulling his hand away.

Paolo frowned and let him go, looking down and catching a glimpse of Andrea’s skin, thin, bright red cuts covering the back of his hand and his fingers. “Andrea, what HAPPENED?”

Andrea stuffed his hands into his pockets and laughed a little too loudly. “All this research, you know! All these papers lead to paper cuts and they sting a lot and…”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Paolo whispered, reaching for Andrea’s hand again.

The other man took a step back and shook his head. “I’m not lying, Paolo. I’ve been working really hard and sometimes I just get a little tired and let something slip. It’s nothing. I’ve put a little medicine on them and… I’ll be fine, Paolo.”

The demon hunter let his hands fall to his sides and nodded quickly. “I’m sorry, Andrea. I guess I’m just getting jumpy… I was talking to Luis and he…”

“What?”

“It was just something he said,” Paolo replied, waving it off, “But you never know with that kid. He speaks in riddles like no other.”

Andrea smiled half-heartedly and, hands still firmly in his pockets, stepped around Paolo and headed back into the living room. “I made up a report for Dejan, if you’re going to the station. If not, I can e-mail it to him, but you know he’s never been good with the computer.”

“Yeah, I’ll go. Just leave it by the door or something,” Paolo called back, standing awkwardly in the kitchen, Luis’s words echoing in his ears.

‘I am not the one hurting him. I am not the one hurting him, Paolo Maldini.’

Paolo squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, whispering harshly, “Get out.”

Luis’s boyish giggles were only just audible underneath Andrea’s calls from the other room.

“Paolo! Paolo, do you want me to make you a copy of this report too, just in case?”


	7. Chapter 7

The drive to the police station took the demon hunter almost twice as long as usual - it was obvious to even the blissfully ignorant that something strange and dangerous was happening in the city. Everywhere road blocks had been put up, diversion routes assigned; there seemed to be a crime scene around every corner.

Jumping out of his car, Paolo could already see Dejan's silhouette looming at the windows of his office. The Italian suppressed the impulse to wave up at him and quickly crossed the street, entering the station, absently noting that even Laura's flirt attempts seemed more demure than usual.

There was definitely something waiting to happen in this city.

The door to Dejan's office opened before Paolo had even knocked, and the Serb ushered him in. It looked even more of a mess than usual, and while Paolo was happy to note that Dejan wasn't wearing the same suit as during his last visit, this one looked just as wrinkled and slept-in.

"I've given you more than a day - I hope you have news for me. News I can work with."

"Probably more news than you'd like to have, Dejan."

"I had sort of feared that much. Coffee?"

Paolo declined, but watched as the other man downed his cup and treated himself to the second of the afternoon (most likely fifteenth of the day) before wearily sitting down in his armchair.

"You found out who that boy is? Who does he work for?"

"His name is Lionel Messi, intern at Como Industries. Gianluca Zambrotta, the owner and CEO, is the man we're looking for."

Dejan nodded mutely and turned to his computer, quickly doing a search for both names in the police database while motioning for Paolo to continue.

"I waited for the boy in the bookstore, but while he didn't show the slightest interest in saving his hide by talking to me, Zlatan Ibrahimovic was able to supply me with answers when he saw the surveillance tape pictures of Messi. Apparently, his firm and Como Industries have been working together for a few months now. Zambrotta was the one who initiated it, and it would appear that he did so in order to have relations with what was - up to now - the most powerful demon in town."

"That 'up to now' isn't encouraging in the least." Dejan turned around again, switching off his computer, and loosened his tie as he sank lower in his seat, his eyes firmly on Paolo's. "Seeing that I did not find anything on either of them, something that doesn't surprise me, I will assume you are the bearer of more bad news. Worse than a victim-eating Prince of Death and the fact that he is in our city, I mean... And you are sure that Ibrahimovic isn't in on this, too?"

Paolo rolled his eyes and pulled Andrea's notes out of the folder he'd been carrying, handing them over to the officer. "You sound like Sandro and Andrea. Yes, I am sure Zlatan is innocent in this, if in nothing else. Without him, Andrea's research wouldn't even have brought up one fifth of what you are reading now. Ibrahimovic wants that threat gone just as much as you and I, albeit for different reasons."

Dejan cocked an eyebrow but kept quiet, instead reading Andrea's notes carefully for ten minutes. Paolo could see the colour leaving the other man's face before he gritted his teeth and a look of grim determination took over his features.

"So that Zambrotta assembled himself an army?"

"Plus what is needed to feed, handle, coordinate and train said army, even the supernatural one that it is."

"And they say money can't buy everything..." Dejan sighed and glanced at Andrea's research again, his mind working overtime as he tried to calculate where this could leave his city in a week, a month, a year; the victims, the death, the suffering. The Serb got up, put on his holster and grabbed his suit jacket.

"Alright, I'll try to get that Zambrotta's cash flow to subside. Revenue is always willing to help when you bait them with a big shot. We might be able to get some of his accounts frozen this way without him catching up on our real reasons to investigate. Not that I think it'll be of much use now, but I gather anything will be helpful at this point. Give me two hours."

"Dejan, wait." Paolo had gotten up and pushed the door shut again. "Don't rush into things."

"I am not rushing into anything, Maldini. I know --"

"You know that I am seeing through you. You are not just out to get some accounts frozen, you are preparing for battle, and you cannot fight a battle like this alone, so don't even think about patrolling the streets on your own, or tailing that Zambrotta or that little fool of an intern without backup." Andrea's words that afternoon came rushing back to Paolo, and he would have smiled at their similarity to his own now if it wasn't for the things at stake here.

The Officer held Paolo's eyes, huffed and made a noncommittal sound before he reached for the door again. Once again he was stopped, this time by Paolo's iron grip on his wrist.

The demon hunter's eyes were flashing as he continued. "I will not lose a friend to seemingly heroic foolishness, Dejan."

The other man grunted something inaudible, but then nodded curtly before yanking the door open and leaving Paolo standing there.

+

Dejan rubbed his hands together, blowing into them and cursing himself for leaving his coat back at the apartment. If there was anything you were supposed to bring into a morgue, Dejan was pretty sure that thing was a coat. Dejan bit his lip. This was not a place for the living.

Why exactly he'd come here eluded the detective. The place already had security, even a little more now that the first body had been stolen right from under their noses. And even in the creature - that THING - did return… what could he do? Shoot at it? The thing was undead anyway and far too smart for bullets. Dejan took a deep breath and snuggled as far down into the office chair as he could manage, staring blankly at the security feeds and trying to remember exactly where he'd left that perfect coat of his.

"Sir?"

Dejan jumped up from his seat, eyes wide. "Oh shit, Frey, you almost killed me."

The Frenchmen took a step into the main office and nodded at the video feeds. "You see what you're looking for?"

"Not yet. There's nothing."

Sébastien shrugged. "There hasn't been much since… well, you know. The day that body disappeared."

Dejan nodded and leaned forward to take a better look at the monitors, half hoping that the creature would jump into the frame and do a little jig, half pleased that it hadn't shown up again.

"Sir, I was going to get something for us to eat? Our refrigerator has been broken for a while and well… do you want anything? A cheeseburger? Some fries? Milkshake?"

Dejan shook his head and glanced back at Sébastien. "I'm fine, Frey. You just get back as quickly as you can. I don't want to be short of manpower around here."

The Frenchman shifted to his other foot and bit his lip. "Sir… Dejan? What exactly are we looking for? The boys are getting nervous, and Hugo's just about killed himself with worry. He won't even go on patrols alone."

"Probably a good idea on Lloris's part, to be completely honest," Dejan admitted, turning his chair to face the monitors. "Seb, if I could tell you anything else, I would. Just know that I'm working on it."

The other man was visibly frustrated, but he knew his place and simply nodded. "So what do I tell my boys? How am I supposed to comfort them with an answer like that?"

Dejan shrugged and pulled out his wallet, "Get them both milkshakes. And… and just be calm. If you're calm, they'll follow you. If you're calm, they'll trust you."

Sébastien grabbed the money from his hand. "Yes, sir."

Dejan watched the Frenchman leave with a heavy heart. He didn't like lying to his friends. It made him feel cheap and useless, two things that didn't exactly help the situation. Sighing, the detective sat back in his chair and spun around a few times, grateful for the dizziness; anything to remind him that there were things other than confusion and fear, and that lost feeling he often got just walking down the street these days. Dejan looked back at the monitor and shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

The Serb stood up and walked around the room a few times before poking his stomach to keep it from growling. He really should have given Sébastien some money for a burger -anything edible really. Reaching for his wallet again, he dug around until he found some coins and headed down the hallway to the soda machine. At least the fizz would quiet his stomach for a few hours.

"You are not meant for this place."

Dejan spun around, expecting to have to tell one of security officers to get back to his post. But the hall was empty, almost unsettlingly so with its bright, clinical lights and polished, empty floors.

"It isn't your time to die."

Officer Stankovic swallowed hard and turned around again, following the voice to the other side of the hall, briefly catching his own reflection in the window of the coroner's small office across from the autopsy room. Had he really made it so far down the hall already?

"The dead have a purpose yet. My Master calls for them."

Dejan's mouth was painfully dry as he reached for the door handle. "Who is your master?"

The door swung open with much more force than Dejan had applied, a gush of wind pushing him inside the room just in time to see Eurynome rip a chunk of cold flesh from the second victim's shoulder. The demon chewed loudly, his rotted teeth tearing into the skin and muscle, "You are not meant for this place. The dead have a purpose yet. My Master calls for them."

"You are not welcome here! You are not --" Dejan tried to scream, attempting to remember everything Paolo had ever told him about demons.

"The dead greet me cheerfully.”

The demon took a step forward, lifting a hand and pointing two long fingers at Dejan. The detective could feel his muscles seizing, and his body burned as though he were on fire.

"They begged for death when it came to the end. It was mercy that finally took their souls from these pathetic human frames."

The demon smiled as Dejan felt his stomach turn on itself and doubled over, blood dripping from his mouth in thick, heavy drops. He tried to swallow, but his throat was closed, his breathing too heavy.

"You cannot stop what is inevitable. My Master has already made the first move. You cannot stop what has already begun."

Dejan shook his head, trying to push past the electric pain in his legs, the nauseating twists and turns of his stomach, the searing burns along his back, trying to push it all to the back of his mind. "You sure like to repeat yourself! Tell you Master that we know where he is. Tell him I'm not going to let him…"

Eurynome laughed, dark and heavy, letting his arm fall back to his side, the pain instantly subsiding. "You are young and stupid. You are nothing. You will die. Your friends will die. This city belongs to Hell now."

Dejan collapsed in an exhausted, broken heap on the floor, choking on the blood that still flooded his mouth.

Eurynome nodded and threw the corpse of his victim over his shoulder. "You would be wise to forget this night if you do not want to join in this man's fate."

The officer didn't know how long he lay there. He heard a screeching noise through the pounding of blood in his ears, then felt a rush of icy air before complete silence descended around him.

Then the door clicked behind him - Dejan tried to push himself up from the freezing floor, still coughing blood. He would at least try to fight back should that bastard have returned.

"Oh God, Dejan! Don't move!" Sébastien crouched down at his side, the blood that had pooled around his friend's head making him fear the worst. The Frenchman took off his jacket and wrapped it around Dejan who was, despite Sébastien's protests, attempting to get up again.

"Did you see him?"

"Who? I -- Dejan, we need to call an ambulance, stay down!" Sébastien freed the walkie-talkie from his belt and was about to alert the two young officers waiting a floor above when Dejan almost hit it out of his hand.

"I don't need a doctor, I'm fine. But get me out of here, will you." The Serb pulled himself to his knees, an arm thrown around the other man's shoulders, and wiped at his mouth disgustedly.

Sébastien gave him a doubting look, but helped Dejan up as gently as possible, the older man hunching and holding his middle with his free arm.

"I really do think we should --", Sébastien shut up when Dejan glared at him and gently manoeuvred the Serb into the main office again, where he sat him down and quickly rummaged around for a blanket to put around the shivering officer.

"Get me the surveillance tapes from the morgue. Tell Ederson and Lloris to get another two officers and check whether it was broken into, but they need to be careful. Groups of four minimum from now on," Dejan coughed and tried to move under the layers that Frey had piled up around him.

"Do you really think you will be okay?" Sébastien asked as he handed the other man a cup of water and a wet towel, watching his painfully slow movements.

Dejan just nodded and waved Sébastien off, grumpily telling him to follow his orders already and leave him be.

Once alone, he let out a long sigh and sunk lower into the chair.

"Jesus Christ. If this shit isn't worth a raise or early retirement, I don't know what is."

His eyes went back to the monitors before him, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. He could see the four officers checking the side entrances, saw that apart from the pool of blood - his own blood - on the floor in the morgue, there was no evidence anything had happened.

Frey returned carrying the surveillance tape, put it into the recorder and wordlessly pushed play.

As with the first tape, it was virtually impossible to tell who - what - had broken into the morgue. The screen seemed to flicker around the figure who was bending over the body. Despite the interference, it became painfully clear that whatever that creature was, it was eating from the dead man before him, the body convulsing awkwardly as flesh was ripped from his shoulder.

Dejan could sense the same horror that had taken hold of him in the morgue now take over Sébastien, who had sunk into a chair beside him.

The Serbian officer saw his own form crumble to the floor before Eurynome hefted up the body he had feasted on, then the creature seemed to almost float through the room, picking up the body of the third victim. Then he vanished with both bodies.

"I couldn't keep them from that fate either," Dejan mumbled almost to himself, his words snapping the man beside him out of it.

"Dejan, what happened in there? What was that?"

"Sébastien, you need to realise that there's more in this world than you might be willing to believe." Dejan got up stiffly and stopped the video before he made for the door.

"Is that all you are willing to give me?! You could have died in there! And still you refuse to tell me what happened? We've known each other long enough to cut this, Dejan." Sébastien grabbed his friend's arm and turned him around forcefully, pulling away quickly as he saw the Serb wince at the sudden movement. "Dejan, I'm sorry, but --"

"No, Sébastien, I am sorry, but you need to believe that I cannot tell you more. Not right now. Stay alert. I don't think we will run into more trouble tonight, but all of you need to stay alert and be careful. And don't show Lloris that video, wouldn't want that money for the milkshake to have been for nothing." The Serb attempted an apologetic smile and turned to the door again. "Seb, thank you." He didn't wait for an answer.

\---

Dejan knew about Sandro's love for whacky TV shows from Paolo, so it didn't really surprise him that it was the incubus who opened the door as he rang at 3.30am.

"Come in, come in, you'll make me miss the brawl on Jerry Springer," Sandro rolled his eyes and unceremoniously yanked the officer into the room by the front of his shirt, oblivious to Dejan's gasp of pain. Paolo, who had been woken up by the noise and trudged out of his bedroom, quickly pulling on a shirt, was not.

"God, Sandro, can't you see that… Go and watch Springer."

Paolo gracelessly shoved the incubus out of the way.

"You bloody fool, what did you get yourself into now," the demon hunter asked quietly as he carefully sat Dejan down at the kitchen table and fetched an icepack from the freezer.

"I didn't go in search of trouble! I'm not that stupid. And why does the whole world think I am made of glass?!" Dejan rolled his eyes and refused to let Paolo and the icepack come anywhere near him.

"I'll fetch Andrea if you keep on being difficult, Stankovic," Paolo placed the ice on the table and sat down opposite his friend, watching him and his hunched shoulders for a second. He was just about to repeat his threat as Dejan finally started talking, his voice barely more than a whisper, full of regret, and horror.

"They are gone, Paolo. The last two victims, they are gone and… I saw him feast on them. I saw it. He made me see and feel what these people went through and I couldn't do a thing, I tried! But I couldn't. They suffered so much, Paolo. I have never…"

The officer's voice died away, and Paolo could see the terror in the other man's eyes. Not at what he himself had experienced that night, but by what Eurynome had made him see. The Prince of Hell had no doubt spotted empathy as Dejan's weakest spot immediately and used that knowledge most effectively. Sighing quietly, Paolo reached out to touch Dejan's elbow, waiting for the other man to make eye contact.

"I'll get Andrea and you can tell us what happened, okay? And you are still hurting. This icepack will be used, whether you want it or not."

Dejan nodded and picked up the ice pack himself, applying it loosely to his aching shoulder only to please the older man. Paolo gave him a nervous look and slipped just enough out of the room to call Andrea from his studies, bringing the other Italian from his room with a huff.

“Paolo, I’m TRYING to find something that could maybe sort of help us NOT die and you -- OH MY GOD, DEJAN!”

The officer winced as Andrea touched a nervous hand to the other man’s cheek. “Just a little run in with a Prince of Hell. Nothing you need to worry too much about.”

Andrea’s eyes went wide and he glanced at Paolo. “Did you hear that?! Paolo, DID. YOU. HEAR. THAT? Dejan had an encounter with Eurynome!”

Paolo rested a hand on Andrea’s shoulder and pushed him gently into one of the seats around the kitchen table. “I think we need to hear a few more details before we lose our heads over this. Dejan?”

Out in the living room, Sandro’s eavesdropping demon ears perked up and he jumped over the couch to get into the kitchen, declaring “If someone got beat, I want to hear about it!”

Andrea rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help watching Sandro settle comfortably in Paolo’s lap as though it were story time at the nursery, wrapping his arms around his lover’s neck. “Dejan? You were saying?”

“I just wanted to help the guys out at the morgue. You know we’ve been having extra security keep watch at night?” Dejan sighed heavily just thinking about Frey and Ederson and the always nervous Lloris attempting to get some sleep after all that had happened that night. “They’ve been getting really jittery and I wanted to be there. And he came… his voice was…”

Paolo swallowed hard and pulled Sandro closer against him in a oddly protective gesture. “Yes? What did he say?”

“He said that the dead had a purpose. No, that wasn’t his word. He said his master was calling to them. Like, those bodies? They weren’t just for… eating,” Dejan said, a taste of vomit gathering in his throat. “The person he works for, this Zambrotta - those bodies, those poor people, he’s going to USE them, Paolo!”

The officer choked up on his own rising tears and Andrea stood quickly, wrapping him in a warm hug.

“Paolo, he took them and we don’t even know what’s happened to them!”

Sandro clung to Paolo as he listened, then offered “He’s feeding an army.”

Andrea rubbed Dejan’s back. “Feeding an army? Or raising one. Eurynome has all sorts of powers over the dead. It’s possible that he could using them as soldiers.”

Sandro cocked an eyebrow. “You mean like zombies?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. An army that feels no pain or fear or fatigue. An army that could be fully replenished with every battle they fought. And talk about multi-purpose too,” Andrea said, his eyes taking on a contemplative look. “You send out your demon soldiers as well, as whenever they’re getting a little tired or hungry, they just rip a piece off their fellow soldier.”

“You really have been spending too much time in that room of yours,” Sandro said, “Because dude, that’s gross.”

Paolo ruffled Sandro’s hair and shoved him off gently, pushing him back towards the living room and his beloved television. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Dejan, but I warned you. This is not a game.”

“I don’t think it’s a game, MALDINI!” Dejan spat back, his face bright red, embarrassed and angry. “I wanted to help, alright! I thought I could stop him from taking those… those… “

Andrea bit his lip and brushed through Dejan’s hair with his fingers, trying everything in his power to calm the other man. “No one’s angry with you. We’re all a little nervous. A little scared.”

Paolo nodded his agreement. “I’m not angry, just concerned. I need some time to think about all this. We need to act and we need to act quickly.”

Andrea opened his mouth to respond, but Paolo held up a hand and stopped him. “I want you to take Dejan out for a meal and a movie or something, Andrea. You both need to try and have a normal, happy, enjoyable night. Tomorrow… tomorrow, I don’t even know.”

“I don’t want a normal, happy night, Paolo! I need to be here with you. I need to help you,” Andrea insisted, stepping around Dejan to plead to his friend.

“You can help me by helping him,” Paolo said, calmly walking out of the room without another word.

Andrea pressed his lips together, turning back to the Officer at the table. Dejan’s face was buried in his hands, his body slumped over the table, exhausted.

“Paolo’s right. He’s always right. What we need right now is just a moment to think about everything. I know what you went through was probably…”

“You have no idea,” Dejan whispered. “This is my city. I love this place. Watching him take those people, it hurts like I can’t quite say.”

Andrea didn’t attempt to smile, didn’t try to say something inspirational. Instead, he just nodded, “Let’s get you drunk.”

Dejan laughed loudly, filling the room with a strange, morbid cheer, “Have you ever even been in a bar, Andrea?”

“Once,” Andrea said, puffing out his chest and trying to look very serious. “There was a mirror in the back room that was showing people false prophesies of their own death. We were able to exorcise the demon in a mere hour and a half.” Dejan cracked a tired smile and nodded, getting up slowly and dropping the ice pack back onto the table. "Very well then, get me drunk, Andrea. I just need... I need to get home and sort my thoughts. After what happened, I'm sure they'll need me at the station today so... Pick me up there? Around five?"

"Five it is. I'm sure Sandro has his fair share of tips for bars..."Andrea mused, his mind obviously in research mode for even such a mundane matter.

"And I am sure all of them are strip bars," Dejan laughed quietly, a bit of the tension melting from his shoulders as he bantered with Andrea. "And before you ask - yes, I will be alright."

Andrea wasn't fully convinced as he watched Dejan walk slowly to the door. "Are you sure you wi-- Okay, five o'clock it is," the researcher corrected himself at the glare he received from Dejan.


	8. Chapter 8

Paolo had dropped Andrea off at the police station, rescuing him from Sandro, who had spent the better part of the morning educating Andrea about the wheres, whats, and hows of proper bar life. Not that he cared about the researcher's protests when he started being far too detailed, far too soon.

Slightly intimidated by the bustle at the station, Andrea had to ask three times until he found Dejan's office. The Serb held up a finger as Andrea entered, indicating that he'd be ready in a minute. The officer was on the phone, checking back with Frey about the latest progress in their latest run into with Eurynome. Not that there was any.

Dejan had spent the whole morning filling out paperwork about the previous night's events and being interviewed twice by his superior Ancelotti. At least they had been able to get a few of Zambrotta's accounts frozen. 'Not that this move hasn't come about two months too late or anything,' he thought dejectedly as he hung up.

Taking a look at Andrea, he couldn't help a small smile. It was pretty obvious that the researcher was nervous, and Dejan could only guess that the incubus had had a hand in this.

"I can promise you that you won't have to place fake dollars in anyone's underwear."

"I -- what?" Andrea blushed and Dejan laughed loudly, pushing his chair back and grabbing his jacket before slinging a friendly arm around the Italian's shoulder.

"Nevermind, I've got just the place for us to go to get drunk. You've ever been to O'Dwyers? Best Irish pub in town, and - better yet - just a ten minute walk from my apartment. And the owner would single-handedly kick any demon's ass if they dared coming close, so we should have a relaxed evening without having to worry about anything but what kind of drink to get."

A relatively quiet (if you didn't count in Dejan's quiet humming along to Justin Timberlake) fifteen-minute ride later, the Serb pulled up to a nice, if lived-in looking, small house the ground floor of which was taken up by a smoky, cosy pub. Andrea could see the low lights and kept close to Dejan as they entered the building.

The officer confidently made his way over to a booth in the back where he sat Andrea down, then went to the bar.

"Hey Rosie, I'll be coming back here until I get my dance."

The woman in question laughed and shook her head. "You need to learn how to dance first. I've seen your moves, Dejan. The good, the bad, the ugly." The pub owner patted the officer's hand at his mock hurt and reached for a glass. "The same as usual?"

"The same as usual, just two of them this time. Got to introduce a good friend to the best pub in town, I have."

"Flattery won't get you a discount, you know that, Stankovic," the dark-haired woman winked as she passed the two pints of Guiness, then watched Dejan walk off.

"There's more where this came from," the officer quipped as he slid into the booth next to Andrea, watching the researcher eye the glass suspiciously. "Oh come on, it's just beer, albeit the best one you will ever find," Dejan laughed and clinked glasses with a still unsure Andrea.

Andrea was not used to the dim lights and the secretive air of a pub almost solely visited by regulars, and all of this didn't alleviate Andrea's probably uncalled-for fears in the least. Dejan watched him sip on his beer hesitantly, and quickly signalled Rosie for another one as soon as the researcher was finished.

"And you are sure we won't run into demons here?" Andrea's eyes scanned the room again, but came to rest on Dejan when the other man patted his hand reassuringly. The researcher ducked his head, the alcohol already creeping up his face in a rather becoming blush. "Sorry. I suppose talking about anything job-related is a no-go here right now, no?"

"That's where you would be right. No talk of demons or the supernatural tonight. Paolo would skin me alive if I didn't live up to the promise of a quiet night without emotional baggage of any kind."

The researcher just huffed and took another sip, slowly melting into the cushions of the booth while the quiet buzz of the alcohol took over and relaxed his muscles.

Dejan, still on his first beer, smiled to himself and scooted closer, almost conspiratorially whispering to Andrea, "That beats research, doesn't it?"

Andrea just nodded, biting his lip as Dejan‘s hot breath met his neck. “It’s different, at least.”

Dejan laughed loudly and leaned back, stretching a little and calling for yet another round, even though Andrea had only just reached the halfway mark in his glass. “So what’s it like? Living with them?”

“Hard,” Andrea shrugged.

“Sandro?”

“Loud. Annoying. Only mostly as sexy as the day you meet him, even after you see the mess he makes of the bathroom every single morning,” Andrea said with a smile. “But Paolo loves him. He really does. Even if… sometimes, he doesn’t always show it.”

Rosie swung by and set down two more glasses a little more forcefully than she needed to. “Planning on getting obnoxiously drunk in my pub, are you, Stankovic?”

Dejan smiled up at her. “I would trust only you to take care of me if I passed out.”

She laughed something beautiful and Andrea buried himself in his drink to keep from being pulled into their conversation.

Dejan licked his lips slightly as she strutted off to fill some more drinks for her other customers, then turned back to Andrea. “I’m starting to think that maybe that’s what you need, Pirlo. Someone for you to love.”

Andrea started to say something but burped instead. The Serb burst out laughing and patted Andrea on the back a couple times, before raising his glass. “Let it out, my gorgeous Italian. Tonight, we forget our troubles.”

Andrea made a disgusted face at himself, but clinked their glasses together anyway. “I don’t think that’s my problem though. I think my problem is…”

Dejan sat up in his seat and looked at Andrea very intently, as though the words would fly past him if he didn’t stare right at the Italian’s lips. “Yes?”

“I think my problem is that I love him too much.”

“You mean Paolo?” Dejan asked, taking another long drink from his glass.

Andrea’s eyes opened wider than Dejan had ever seen them. “You knew?!”

Dejan tried to smile. “I suspected, at the very least. Andrea, you’re not terribly subtle. I suppose you should be glad that Paolo’s a little thick when it comes to these sorts of things. Brilliant when it comes to demons and witches and ghosts; sort of an idiot when it comes to the men living in his home.”

“We don’t deal with witches,” Andrea said with a sigh as he covered his face in his hands and let out a quiet sob.

Rosie shot Dejan a glare from across the room, the Serb instantly pulling his friend closer, an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, there’s no need for that, Andrea. I promise I would never tell -”

Andrea blew his nose into Dejan’s shirt, nodding slowly as though he knew that crying would do no good. Dejan tried to forget about the pub full of men around them and rubbed Andrea’s back slowly. “You can’t possibly be drunk already. Andrea… Andrea, it’s going to be okay, you know that?”

“Sometimes,” Andrea whispered, looking up at Dejan, eyes starting to get puffy, “Sometimes I just get so lonely. I can hear them, you know. In the next room. Sandro’s not subtle about it at all. They’re so perfect. I’m just in the way.”

Dejan shook his head and lifted Andrea’s chin up with a single finger. “You know damn well Paolo wouldn’t let you move out of that apartment. He needs you WAY more than you need him.”

Andrea swallowed hard. “But what about ME? Sometimes, I just… I want someone to touch me and think of me and…”

Dejan wasn’t sure how it happened but a moment later, their lips were pressed together, his breath stolen from him by Andrea’s eager lips. Dejan’s hands ended up on Andrea’s shoulder, pushing him away slowly but forcefully. “I’m sorry. I’m not that person, Andrea.”

The Italian laughed hesitantly at himself and scooted as far away from Dejan as he could in the booth. “I didn’t mean… I’m just not thinking so clearly, I suppose.”

Dejan reached out for the other man’s hand on the table, but stopped himself. “This probably wasn’t the best time to get you drunk anyway. You’re nervous. You’re…”

“Sometimes I just want to go home.”

Dejan took another long drink from his beer. “You want to go back to the apartment?”

“No,” Andrea said, shaking his head slowly. “Home. Sometimes I try to imagine just leaving this place. Going somewhere where I don’t have think about all this.”

The Serb pushed his drink out of reach and sighed. “You know you don’t mean that, Andrea. You love it here. It’s everything that you ever wanted right? I mean, you get to spend all your time leafing through ancient books, get to chase down demonic threats. Andrea, you get to help people.”

Andrea took a deep breath. “Who’s supposed to help me?”

Dejan didn’t reply for a moment, staring longingly at his beer and imagining life before Paolo Maldini and his merry band of demon hunters, before taking Andrea’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “I am.”

+

“You’re close,” Sandro whispered, rolling his hips to feel every inch of Paolo inside him. “Come for me, Paolo. I need to feel you…”

The incubus pushed his lover harder into the mattress, moaning indulgently as Paolo pushed up and still deeper.

“Paolo, I know you’re close. I can almost…” Sandro licked his lips, his voice growing darker as he increased his pace on top of the other man. “I can almost taste it.”

Paolo swallowed hard, his tongue feeling heavy and useless while he stared up at Sandro, the demon’s body slick with sweat and achingly beautiful. “Sandro, please… I can’t…”

“I don’t want you to,” Sandro cut him off. “I need you. Don’t hold back.”

Paolo gasped for air, reaching for his lover and comforted only when Sandro’s long finger laced with his, encouraging and begging and…

“Shit!” Paolo cursed for lack of a better word, his orgasm washing over him, that heavy, strong and violent orgasm he only ever got when he was with Sandro. The demon’s own breathing was heavier now, his eyes flickering between his usual black and the deep crimson of his desire. Sandro wasted no time pinning Paolo to the mattress completely, digging his nails into Paolo’s shoulder and pressing their lips together, breathing in deeply, soaking up Paolo’s pleasure by the lung full.

The incubus shivered, whimpering against Paolo’s mouth as he took in everything the other man could offer him. “Please, Paolo. Just one more time.”

Paolo brushed a few wet strands of hair from Sandro’s eyes. “You’ve already had three helpings. You’re going to start getting fat.”

Sandro glared at him, kissing him quickly at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to get old, Paolo? Can’t keep up anymore?”

Paolo rolled his eyes and relaxed into the pillows, trying to catch his breath as Sandro rolled over and crawled up under his arm, resting contentedly with his head on Paolo’s chest.

Sandro pressed his lips together, as he listened to Paolo’s heart beat. “Are you happy right now?”

Paolo shifted underneath him and pulled his demon lover closer. “I’m nervous. I don’t know what to expect. Even Andrea isn’t sure what exactly we’re going up against here.”

Sandro sighed, sitting up only slightly to turn around and look Paolo in the eye. “I mean, are you happy right now? Right now with me?”

The demon hunter laughed just under his breath. “Oh please, Sandro. You know I lo -”

Sandro’s eyes became boyishly large and eager, hanging on that unfinished word. “Yes?”

“If I wasn’t happy with you, I would have thrown you out a long time ago,” Paolo finished, pulling out from under Sandro and turning on his side, staring at the wall pointedly.

Sandro pouted and kissed his way down Paolo’s spine, biting at the one particularly tender bit of skin. “That’s not what you started to --”

“It’s what I meant though.”

Paolo shrank back at the tone in his own voice and didn’t begrudge Sandro for biting a little harder before laying back down and spooning the demon hunter, a single hand of gentle fingers massaging its way down the human’s side. “I wish you wouldn’t do this. Go after this Hell Prince.”

Paolo closed his eyes. “I don’t have any other choice and you know it.”

“I am older than your entire people, Paolo. I know more than anyone in this city that there are no Fates. There is no Destiny. Paolo, all that matters is what you choose for yourself, for your own life,” Sandro whispered, sucking lightly on Paolo’s earlobe. “If you wanted to… if you asked me to, I could take you away from here. We wouldn’t have to do this. We wouldn’t have to live like this. Maybe then you could say it… say what you REALLY meant to say.”

“You don’t understand, Alessandro, and you’re never going to.”

Sandro closed his eyes painfully hard to hide the flash of color that always came during this argument. “Then why don’t you try to tell me? Paolo, I just want…”

“It’s not that I don’t… adore you, Sandro. I just need a little more -”

“Time,” Sandro finished for him, “For a species with so little of it, you humans waste more of your time thinking than any other creature. Am I really so horrible?”

“Is that really your hand on my cock?”

Sandro smirked and squeezed gently. “I told you I wanted dessert. And we’re out of ice cream again.”

+

Dejan had realised two important things. Firstly, Andrea definitely wasn't used to alcohol, and secondly, he was one of the people on whom alcohol had a rather abrupt effect.

Rosie had shot him a dirty look as he paid for their beer - Andrea, while having stopped crying, still looked utterly forlorn, slumped in his seat. At least he hadn't put up much of a fight as Dejan hoisted him out of the booth; despite his firm hold on the slight Italian, it took him nearly half an hour to get Andrea to his apartment.

The up-to-then quiet researcher found back his voice as soon as Dejan had gently sat him down on his bed and tried getting him out of his smoky clothes, starting with his shirt.

"Did you mean it?" Andrea slurred, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What? That I will be here for you? Of course I did." Dejan tugged at the legs of Andrea's trousers until the other man lifted his hips and the officer could pull them off.

Andrea just nodded and laid back, somehow worming his way under the covers.

When Dejan came back from the bathroom - Tylenol and glass of water in hand for the next morning - he thought Andrea already asleep, his exhaustion and the alcohol taking their toll.

"Then why can't he?" came a broken whisper, proving the Serb wrong.

"Oh Andrea, he does love you, you know. Maybe differently, but just as strongly," Dejan said quietly and slipped into bed beside the researcher, awkwardly pulling him into a hug. The younger man nodded into the Serb's chest and relaxed almost instantly. Dejan didn't allow himself the same until Andrea's breath had evened out.

\--

"Oh my god, what did we DO?"

Andrea's voice was shriller than Dejan had ever heard him before, and the Serb was pretty sure that its tone and volume weren't exactly working wonders for the hangover Andrea no doubt was sporting. Blinking away the confusion of being awoken this way, Dejan sat up and tried to focus on Andrea, who had scooted over to the very edge of the bed, clutching the sheets up under his chin and eying first the half-naked officer and than the blanket they had shared with ever-growing horror.

"We didn't do a -- Andrea, would you please look at me?"

The researcher complied, but his expression didn't change. Hair askew, more or less looking like a wildly frightened death warmed over, Andrea just kept staring blankly. Dejan was almost tempted to crack a joke to snap the other man out of it, if he hadn't been sure it would be totally counter-productive.

"We did not... do it? Why are you naked? Oh my god, why am I naked?!" Andrea reached over and snatched a pillow to use as another protective shield between him and Dejan and whatever had happened between them.

"You aren't naked, Andrea, and no, we didn't do it. I am not sure you noticed, but I happen to be straight. I am sorry, but you are lacking some necessary curves for me to be taking any interest in you that way, handsome though you are."

Andrea clutched the pillow even harder before throwing it with all his might, his aim wildly off and therefore missing Dejan's head by about a yard.

"STOP JOKING! I AM IN BED WITH YOU! I AM..." Before Andrea could finish his sentence, he had sprung up and rushed in the direction of what he hoped was the bathroom.

"Well. There goes that." Dejan got up and padded into the kitchen, trying not to be too loud as he prepared his patented hangover breakfast, developed and tested ad infinitum during his glorious days at police academy.

He waited until he heard Andrea come out of the bathroom again before he returned to his bedroom. The researcher was curled up on his side, pillow over his face. "I hate life."

Dejan sat down beside him, the dip in the mattress making Andrea peer from underneath the pillow.

"There's some Tylenol on the nightstand, and I've made breakfast - oh, now don't make that face at me. It will help. You should trust me on that, if on nothing else."

The officer waited for Andrea's hesitant nod before leaving for the kitchen again, just to return with a tray of greasy breakfast goodness and fresh orange juice. Carefully setting it down in Andrea's lap, he then paused to pull on an old, ratty sweatshirt to pull over and plopped down in the chair facing the bed.

Andrea's face was a mixture of disgust and curiosity as he slowly picked up his fork and sunk it into whatever that thing on his plate was.

"I think I am going to be sick. Again," the younger man mumbled but took a careful forkful, finding it smelled gross and tasted likewise, but was not even half as bad as he had feared.

"It's going to soak up the alcohol still in your system. Won't win me any prizes, but it works wonders." Dejan shrugged and sunk lower into the armchair's cushions. "So you don't remember a thing? About last night, I mean?"

The officer was quick to add that really nothing had happened when he saw Andrea's face fall again.

"Well, we were in that pub, and I... I kissed you," the Italian said and ducked his head as he blushed crimson. "I told you about Paolo, and the last thing I know is that you somehow got me out of there. You didn't have to carry me, did you?"

Dejan chuckled quietly and shook his head. "You're a nice, quiet drunk who's made of skin and bones. I've dealt with a lot worse."

The officer watched the other man quietly as he ate. Setting the still half-full tray on the nightstand, Andrea hesitantly patted the mattress beside him and waited until Dejan had joined him on the bed.

"I am sorry I yelled at you when I should have been grateful you didn't leave my sorry, drunken ass to rot there in that pub."

"Oh, believe me, that wouldn't have ended well for either of us. I'm not afraid of many things, but of Rosie, I am." Dejan smiled softly and brushed a lock of hair out of Andrea's eyes.

"Please, Dejan, don't -- he must not know, don't you ever tell Paolo. I could not live with him knowing."

"He won't hear a word from me, I swear. Not a word. Just... if you ever need to talk... You know you can call me even if it's not about four-armed demons and the impending apocalypse."

Andrea just reached over and hugged the officer gratefully.


	9. Chapter 9

Paolo couldn’t help but moan into the kiss that woke him up, Sandro pulling him out of his dreams with careful hands and that perfect kiss. “Morning, demon hunter.”

Paolo rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and smiled despite himself, staring up at Sandro, completely content for the first time in weeks. “We need to do this more often.”

“You’re telling me?” Sandro smirked, leaning in for another taste of his lover’s lips. “I’ve been trying to get you like this for days.”

The demon hunter played lazily with a handful of Sandro’s hair. “I wish it were so simple. This is something I could get used to.”

“Anytime you want it,” Sandro grinned, moving down to Paolo’s neck for a bite. “Anytime at all. It’s sort of my calling in life.”

Paolo laughed as he shoved his incubus off playfully. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Sandro replied, stretching himself across the mattress with a naughty smile. “You looked so … peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“That’s a new one,” Paolo said, sitting up and shaking the last remnants of sleep away. “What finally made you think it was time to get my lazy ass out of bed? Ready for another go already?”

Sandro rolled over and laid his head in Paolo’s lap. “It’s just that Dejan’s been banging on the door for about ten minutes and I sort of barricaded us in last night. He sounds really annoyed, too.”

Paolo jumped out of the bed, hitting Sandro on the side of the head with his knee and rushed into the living room, pushing two chairs, a couch and the breakfast table out of the way of the door as quickly as he could. “I’m SO sorry, I really didn’t think that Sandro was serious when he said he wanted us --”

The door finally flew open, precisely at the moment Paolo realized he hadn’t bothered to slip on even a pair of briefs. Andrea swallowed his gum, but Dejan just sort of stared with a strange look on his face. “Not bad, Maldini. Not bad at all. I can respect that. “

Sandro smiled from his place across the living room, a thin sheet that hid exactly nothing wrapped around his waist. “Wait until you see what he can do with it.”

Paolo grabbed a pillow, fumbling for modesty. “Sandro. Really unnecessary. Just really unnecessary.”

Dejan coughed, turning everyone’s attention back to them. “I’m just returning your librarian. I got him a little… not sober last night. I’m thinking a good nap in his own bed would do wonders.”

Andrea nodded quickly and slipped around Paolo -- eyes carefully averted -- towards his room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible.

Sandro snorted and dragged his nails across Andrea’s door with a grin as he made his way into the kitchen. “I love that boy sometimes. Some kind of amusing, really.”

“Ummm… Paolo? I know it might be a bad time,” Dejan said, peeking around the exposed demon hunter at the strutting incubus. “But I think we need to have a talk. About Andrea. About you.”

Paolo’s eyes grew a bit, but Dejan calmed him quickly with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s nothing bad, Paolo. I just… I really think there are a few things you need to know before… before we go off on this little adventure.”

Paolo bit his lip and reached over the back of the out-of-place couch and pulled on a pair of carelessly discarded jeans for the night before. Having kissed Sandro's cheek and ordered him back to the bedroom, Paolo then cocked his head towards the kitchen so he and Dejan could have a bit of privacy.

Dejan waited until he could no longer hear footsteps to take a sip from the coffee Paolo poured him. “I know this is sort of a personal thing and all, but Paolo, I’m just saying. Andrea’s a great guy and…”

“You can’t date him.”

The officer snorted into his drink, “It’s nothing like that. It’s more that… I know you and Sandro have that whole Romeo and Juliet thing and yeah, it‘s sort of sexy in a way, but Andrea… why do you bother with Sandro when he’s right there? Waiting for you?”

Paolo shrugged and finished pouring himself a large mug of coffee. “I don’t think I’m following.”

“Andrea. You know. Your research assistant. He sort of less assholistic than Sandro. Unless you’re into that.”

Paolo frowned, “Sure…?”

“And well,” Dejan said, setting down his coffee and trying to come up with a way to make this much clearer, “I mean… if I were that way, I would want to be in a relationship with Andrea before some incubus I picked up off the street.”

“Actually, Sandro followed me home. I didn’t pick him up anywhere,” Paolo explained.

“That’s nice, but I think I can't be the only one who wonders why you aren't with Andrea instead of ... " Dejan cocked his head to toward the living room where Sandro was already cracking up at a round of morning cartoons.

Paolo shook his head, "That's an easy one. Andrea and I are friends. You know... gay men have friends too. Friends they don't sleep with."

"I get that," Dejan said, rolling his eyes. "I just think that you'd be a lot happier if you were with Andrea, you know. Someone a little less... demon-y."

"Sometimes I start thinking that myself," Paolo said, putting away his creamer with a laugh.

"Do you really?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Dejan held up his hands in mock surrender. "Nothing! I was just wondering... Just want you happy and all. And..."

"You think I could happier with Andrea?" Paolo said, his eyebrows meeting his hairline. "That's just silly. Andrea isn't interested in... me."

Dejan focused on a spot of dirt on the floor, refusing to say anything more.

"Dejan, are you trying to say that --?"

The officer half-smiled, refusing to look Paolo in the eyes. "No. Just ... a thought I was having. Sharing seemed like a good idea."

"I… you never…" Paolo's silence made Dejan look up again, watching the emotions play over the demon hunter's face. "You are such a bad liar, Dejan Stankovic."

With that, Paolo pushed his chair back forcefully and stormed into the living room where Sandro was happily munching on some crackers he had pulled from his stash of TV snacks.

"Sandro, you..." Paolo growled and yanked him out of the armchair by the front of his shirt, almost effortlessly pushing him up against the wall.

"Oh, Paolo, you know I like it rough, but with an audience? Are you sure Dejan won't mind? Or are you planning on letting him join?" The incubus grinned and shot a glance to the officer who was standing in the doorway, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

"Shut up, Sandro," Paolo snapped, bringing his other hand up to the demon's neck, holding him still. "I'm going to ask you one question, and you had better not lie - your constant taunting of Andrea - it's because you know he loves me, isn't it?"

The demon's face changed from slight incredulity to a wide smirk. "Wow. Paolo Maldini has finally caught on to his little pet's crush."

Paolo growled as he tightened his hold on Sandro, bringing his face mere inches from his own.

"You knew! You knew this entire time and you just let him keep going. You kept pushing and pushing…"

Sandro's grin, if possible, only grew wider, his voice sugary sweet as he replied, "You have to admit it's sort of pathetic that he couldn't tell you himself. After all this time!"

Paolo's eyes flashed darkly as he tightened his hold around Sandro's neck and smacked his head against the wall behind.

"Watch it, Sandro! Your demon is showing."

Alarmed by the tone of Paolo's voice, Dejan took a step closer, but stopped when the demon hunter's eyes fixed on him, telling him to keep out of what wasn't his business.

The demon hunter's attention went back to his lover when Sandro chuckled quietly. "What does it matter, Paolo? You're not going to leave me."

"You make me sick."

Sandro straightened up as best as he could, his eyes changing to deepest black as his emotions came through. "Well, I'm surely not about to let your little puppy ruin the first good thing that has happened to me in a thousand years!"

Paolo let go of his lover's neck, studying him for a second before his fist connected with the demon's jaw. Sandro was thrown to the side by the force of the blow, stumbling and then falling onto the TV table.

"I think you just ruined it for yourself, incubus," the demon hunter all but spat, taking a step back, barely controlling his anger.

Dejan hadn't time to react as Andrea, alerted by the noise in the living room, pushed past him, and - after having taken in the scene - dropped to his knees beside the incubus.

"My God, Sandro, what happened?" The researcher's hands went up to the demon's jaw, trying to wipe away the blood that was slowly trickling out of the corner of his mouth. "Let me have a look, I…"

"Leave him alone, Andrea. He's not fucking worth your effort," Paolo bellowed, his voice freezing the movements of everyone in the room. He reached down to grab Andrea's upper arm tightly, hauling him up and away from the demon.

The slighter man tried not to wince at Paolo's grip, the demon hunter's fingers digging painfully into his upper arm. "But I don't understand…"

Paolo just shook his head, the look in his eyes changing from furious to bewildered until it gave away to an unspoken apology.

"Paolo, what… Oh my God. You know. How --" Andrea shook off his friend's hand and whipped around, eyes landing on Dejan briefly, the accusation clear in his eyes. Then he stormed out of the living room.

It all happened in a heartbeat, and the officer was the first one to react when the door to the apartment slammed shut behind the fleeing Andrea.

Dejan flicked his eyes back to Paolo before running after Andrea, almost tripping on the stairs as he called the researcher’s name, “Will you just fucking wait two seconds?!”

The Italian had already reached the street by the time he turned around, his vision so hazy with tears that he wouldn’t have been sure it was Dejan had the officer not called after him, “How COULD you, Dejan?! I made you … you promised me that it was just between us and then you… what the FUCK were you thinking?!”

Dejan narrowly missed a very frantic punch, grabbing Andrea’s wrists before he attempt any more damage and holding him tightly. “I was just trying to help.”

“Dejan, you knew I didn’t want him to know!”

The officer shook his head and pulled Andrea closer, hugging him fiercely and refusing to let go. “I thought I could help you! I just thought it might be easier if he…”

Andrea didn’t dare open his eyes, instead burying his head in Dejan’s shoulder, clinging to him like a child. “You were wrong. You were very wrong.”

Dejan nodded. “I know that now. But please, Andrea, don’t… don’t be upset! I just wanted to see you happy. You and Paolo and…”

Andrea didn’t respond, the sound of their balcony door creaking open keeping him silent. Paolo hesitated in the doorway, looking at Andrea and Dejan locked in an embrace on the street below. The demon hunter's eyes landed on Andrea’s hands clenched in nervous fists, and Paolo carefully stepped out onto the balcony, not sure what he was supposed to say. If there was anything he could say.

“Andrea? Do you understand? You know we all just want you to be happy,” Dejan whispered after a moment.

The Italian squeezed his eyes shut. “I know you mean well. But I can’t go back up there. I can’t. I can’t, Dejan.”

Dejan took a deep breath, rubbing the other man’s back slowly. “It’s okay. We can… we can just stay out here for a little while. We can just talk about it. “

Paolo leaned over the balustrade and tried to get a better look, the lump in his throat becoming more painful even as he stood there. He tried to not turn at the sound of Sandro stepping out of the apartment, the demon making tired, disapproving noises as he wiped what little blood was left from his lip. “Paolo, please. I didn’t --”

“You need to not be speaking right now.”

The incubus didn’t return to the apartment, but he pressed his lips together painfully hard, coming to stand next to Paolo on the balcony, as there simply seemed nothing else to do.

“Oh my GOD, what is GOING on out there?! Do I live in a soap opera here?!” Cristiano complained as he poked his head out from next door, staring right at Sandro with an evil look in his eyes.

The demon growled at him, “Get back inside. There’s nothing for you here.”

Cristiano giggled and took a step out. “It’s MY balcony too, you know.”

“Not right now, it isn’t,” Sandro said, his eyes enforcing the threat with a dusty red color. “You turn around and go back into your apartment now. Or I’ll have to … take action.”

Cristiano bit his lip and peeked over the balcony. “Who broke little Andrea’s heart? Did he finally tell Paolo about…?”

Paolo glanced over with a horrified look on his face. “You knew?”

The Portuguese man shrugged and started to turn back into his apartment. “It was sort of obvious, don’t you think? It’s been a great source of amusement for the both of us for what… a year now?” Cristiano said, looking at Sandro for support.

The incubus bit his lip and decided it might not be the best time to look back at his lover. “Cristiano, go back inside.”

Paolo turned around in time to see Dejan walking Andrea to his car, an arm thrown protectively around the other man’s shoulders. “You joked about it with Cristiano? How many others knew? How much of a fool did you make Andrea out to be?”

Sandro was sure he was going to swallow his tongue. “I didn’t make him out to be a fool, Paolo. It was just a bit of fun.”

“You hurt him like that and you’re calling it fun,” Paolo said with a deep breath, his knuckles going white as he gripped the railing. “Alessandro, I want you out of here.”

The incubus choked on his planned come-back and just stared. “You don’t mean that.”

“But I do,” Paolo nodded. “I need you to go. I can’t even look at you.”

“Paolo, I didn’t -”

“GO!” Paolo yelled, turning to Sandro with the sort of look he tended to reserve for only the worst of the demons he expelled.

Sandro felt something heavy pound against his lungs, Paolo’s usually quiet gift for exorcism boiling up and hitting the demon square in the chest. “You wouldn’t…. you can’t… Paolo? I love -- ”

The demon hunter’s lips were already moving, the incantation flowing up from somewhere inside, ancient words that he‘d sworn he‘d never use on his Sandro. “You will leave this place. You are not welcome here, incubus.”

Paolo didn’t look up to see the tears in Sandro’s eyes as his human façade flickered and gave way to the demonic spirit inside, a thin blackness shading his features before he disappeared.

“Paolo!” Dejan called up from the bottom of the stairs. “You get your shit together. I’m taking him back to my place. I’ll… I’ll drop him off later tonight. You damn well need to make up your mind about all this.”

Paolo nodded solemnly, staring at the car and its tinted windows, trying to see Andrea, trying to see if he was still crying. “I’ll be here.”

Dejan bit his lip. “It might be better if you weren’t.”

“I’ll be here,” Paolo said, refusing to give way.

“If you think that’s best.”

Paolo licked his lips and turned to Dejan. “Tell him… tell him that I’m sorry.”

Dejan shook his head and started back for the car. “You fucking coward. Don’t you realize that’s something you need to tell him yourself?”

Paolo watched Dejan drive off, and suddenly he began to understand just how alone Andrea must have felt the entire time.

***

With every second that passed, Andrea sank lower in his seat, fighting not to give in and start crying like a baby. Dejan tried to offer what comfort he could by laying a gentle hand on the researcher's knee. Instead of shying away like he had feared Andrea would, the Italian clasped his hand in his own, the knuckles turning white at the pressure he applied.

"Where are we going? Dejan?"

The officer smiled slightly and pulled over, parking in front of a cheery, colourful building with wide glass windows.

"You'll see, Andrea. This just might be what you need." Dejan tried a reassuring smile before getting out of the car and waiting for the researcher to do the same. With a gentle hand in the small of his back, the officer lead Andrea into the cosy ice-cream parlour where he sat him down in a candy-coloured booth, then proceeded to order the largest sundae they had, making sure to get extra sprinkles for the other man.

"So this is how you deal with your sorrows? Sugar shocks?" Andrea asked as he tried looking around the giant dessert in front of him.

"You should try it! Plus I thought getting drunk again was a bad idea so soon."

Andrea snorted and watched the officer start eating his own Mickey Mouse kids sundae, a fact that finally managed to draw a smile from the researcher.

Dejan reached over and tentatively touched Andrea's fingers. "I really am sorry, you know. For everything."

The Italian merely shrugged, pretending to focus on eating, even though Dejan was guaranteed to see through it. "I guess it's better this way, maybe. I mean, it had to get out at some point, it's actually sort of… a relief. One I could still do without, mind you, but… " Andrea tried an artless laugh and fell quiet again.

"Paolo's not dumb, now he knows… he will think about this again. Maybe it's not the best time to say this, but take heart, Andrea? He'll think about it and --"

"And what, Dejan? He loves Sandro, I could see it even before he admitted it to himself. I am not going to keep him from that, I am… I am not going to send him through the same hell I've lived in for years now."

Dejan felt himself choke up at the raw emotion in Andrea's voice. He silently prayed that by the time he'd drop Andrea off at home again, Paolo would have made up his mind for good.


	10. Chapter 10

Now that he was alone, Paolo had paced the apartment for almost an hour. It had never been so quiet, nor had he ever felt so lost in what he had long considered his haven in a city that could be overwhelming.

Going into his bedroom (studiously ignoring what was still lying around of Sandro's belongings), he picked up pen and paper and returned into the kitchen, where he sat down with a cup of coffee and started writing down the things he should have told Andrea a long time ago. Setting the letter on Andrea’s chaotic but oddly organized desk, Paolo thought he would feel all that weight magically lift from his burdened shoulders. Instead, it simply transferred to his stomach, where it settled and made him sure he was going to gag on his own cowardice. Reaching over, he considered grabbing the letter and tearing into the smallest pieces he could manage, but something stopped him and he let himself out of the room as quickly as possible, shutting the door insistently behind him.

As his hand left the door knob, he let out a deep sigh. “Andrea. I’m so, so…”

“So what?” Andrea whispered, his voice cracked and dry and almost silent. The researcher pulled the front door shut, clutching his other hand to his chest.

“Andrea! Andrea, I’m -- will you sit down?” Paolo started and restarted, not sure what he meant to say first, trying to remember the order of his letter, which had, moments ago, seemed so organized and perfect.

Andrea shook his head, his lips pressed together, and crossed the room in a few silent steps. “We have nothing and everything to say to each other, Paolo. But right now, there is evil out there that only you can save us from.”

Paolo’s mouth fell open, but Andrea raised a hand to quiet him, a rounded, gorgeously polished carving resting in his palm. “This is for you. Paolo, I need you to put it on. And promise me that you won’t take it off until -- you’ll know.”

Paolo started to reach for it, a slight tingling rushing up his arm as his fingers first brushed the talisman. “What is it?”

Andrea rubbed uselessly as his eyes with his sleeve as he watched Paolo slip the necklace around his neck. “It’s nothing. Just promise.”

“Andrea… I --”

But the researcher took a sharp breath and rushed from the room into his own, pressing the door closed too quickly for Paolo to say anything. The older man stared down at the carving around his neck and tried to read the awkward script that had been painstakingly carved into the wood, but even he could not read it, despite his long years of training. Tracing some of the other symbols on the piece, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the script read. Something told him these were not words made for the mouths of men.

Paolo shivered at the almost unconscious knowledge that his instinct was true and turned to ask Andrea about it, raising his hand to knock, just as he heard sobs sneaking out from under the door. Paolo bit his lip and turned away quickly, making for the kitchen with a lump in his throat.

On the counter, he had already begun to gather his… materials. The image of Eurynome still fresh in his mind, the weapons he had laid out, those typical for any other hunt, seemed so inadequate.

‘Paolo fucking Maldini, what the hell do you think you’re doing,’ he asked himself as he started loading the bits and pieces into his bag, throwing the pack over his shoulder with a heavy grunt. Glancing up, Paolo almost hoped to see Andrea sneaking a peak at the sound, not a little disappointed to see nothing from his roommate.

He trudged down the stairs, listening desperately for the sound of Andrea rushing down after him, but gave up hope when he reached his car, throwing the pack in the trunk and climbing in. A drive around the city, he thought, like in old days. Maybe that was what he needed right now. Maybe the simple, continuing life of the city would give him that little bit of calm that his apartment simply couldn’t. Turning the key in the ignition, Paolo was off, making sure not to look in his rear-view mirror, not needing to see their building fade into the distance.

Taking a left at the first light, not caring what street or where it lead, Paolo clenched painfully at the steering wheel, letting his music slowly wear out his speakers and his ears. Slamming on his brakes to keep from running a stop sign half covered by an overgrown tree, Paolo cursed at nothing in particular and banged his fist against the radio, surrounding himself in silence.

“I don’t even know where I’m go--” Paolo started, before a sharp honk from behind him got him moving again. Paolo flicked off the impatient teenager behind him and turned down the next street, pulling into the first open parking spot. The demon hunter glanced up, and found himself being welcomed to: ‘Saint Anthony’s Catholic Church: Where Lost Souls Are Found’.

“What the fuck, fate? You know I don’t like it when you do this,” Paolo sighed, hopping out of the car anyway and slamming the door for added effect, just missing his fingers.

Paolo hadn’t been to church in seven years. He wasn’t sure what had made him stop going. He still believed in God. After all, when you shoved a cross at a vampire, they cringed. When a priest blessed water in the name of Jesus Christ, it burnt the flesh of demons straight off. If that wasn’t a sign that something was watching out for all these lowly little humans, Paolo wasn’t sure what was. But it was hard being a Catholic when a good chunk of the Church’s hierarchy was pushing for the Pope to excommunicate secular demon hunters as heretics across the board. That and the whole sleeping with men thing…

Yes. Sometimes being a Catholic was hard.

But the motions never really left you, Paolo thought, as he dipped two fingers into the small bowl of Holy Water near the door, making a quick sign of the cross. He cringed as St. Anthony’s heavy door shut behind him, loud enough to interrupt a small circle of older women praying rosary. He smiled and waved nervously in apology, scurrying into the nearest empty chapel. Their leader shrugged and moved onto the next bead.

Paolo let out a deep breath as he settled into one of the cushioned pews laid out before a statue of the church’s patron saint. “What the hell am I doing here?”

The demon hunter laid his forehead against the back of the pew in front of him, trying to sort his thoughts when a small click behind him had Paolo on his feet, a hand raised for cover as he whirled around. The young priest in front of him giggled a little at Paolo’s nerves, his smile spreading a strange sort of calm over the entire room.

“I was just coming to check on you. You looked a little… frazzled as you stepped inside.”

Paolo finally started breathing again, turning back to look St. Anthony in the eye. “A little? Wow. I was sure I looked a mess.”

“I’ve seen worse,” the priest laughed, slipping around to kneel beside Paolo, bowing his head in quick acknowledgement to the saint. “If you’re going to pray, I suggest kneeling.”

Paolo swallowed a little too audibly for his own comfort, but knelt beside the younger man. “I haven’t been --”

“I could tell. My name is Alberto. Well, Father Alberto, but you get the idea.”

Paolo nodded. He got it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There is some very crazy shit… stuff going on in this town right now. I’m sort of part of it,” Paolo said, quietly and after a moment. “I just wanted to ask Him to watch out for my roommate. He doesn’t deserve a lot of what is about to happen.”

“Well, then,” Alberto said with a laugh, “that wasn’t vague at all.”

The priest sat up in the pew and turned to look more intently at Paolo. “You need not be afraid of this creature. You have asked for protection. You will get it.”

Paolo cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Alberto nodded. “You heard me. For a demon hunter of such power, you don’t hide it very well.”

Paolo fought to keep from blushing. “How did you…?”

“The Vatican’s been stepping up in the… demonic force education department. Better to know what is out there than to just sit around and hope what is out there doesn’t come in here.”

Paolo shook his head. “THIS creature? I’m pretty sure the Vatican didn’t prepare you for him.”

Alberto pulled a pale wood rosary from his pocket. “That’s why we have you though, isn’t it?”

“I don’t work for the Church anymore. Not now, not again.”

“You haven’t told me your name,” Alberto said plainly, rolling the beads in his fingers.

“Paolo. Paolo Mal --”

“Maldini. Yes, I thought so. You‘re sort of a celebrity in some circles,” Alberto nodded. “Paolo, you must realize soon, you don’t have to work for the Church to do the Church’s work. To do God’s work. You are a strong man; you are a holy man for all your black magic. You will be safe if you put some faith in powers greater than those you yourself possess.”

“I think I’m a little far gone for that. It’s going to take a lot more than a friendly priest with some minor psychic powers to call me back.”

Alberto shrugged. “Can’t blame me for trying. It is my job.” The priest pressed the rosary into Paolo’s hand. “I think you need this more than I do. You might not think so, but I know so.”

The priest rose from the bench quietly and smoothly. “Come back to see me when it’s all over. I think your roommate would appreciate it if you did.”

Paolo stood up much more violently than Alberto had. “How did you -- ?!”

Alberto laughed deep in his belly. “I’m really not a psychic, so much as I happen to be Andrea’s confessor. You’re going to be okay, Paolo. Trust yourself, won’t you?”

Paolo didn’t blink until the door closed firmly behind the priest.

“He doesn’t really get it at all,” Paolo whispered at the smiling statue of St. Anthony. “This is more than he ever read about in whatever textbooks they gave that boy at seminary. I just… pray for me. Pray for Andrea. I need it. He deserves it.”

He stayed in the church a few more minutes, letting the quiet wash over him as Father Alberto's words echoed through his mind.

Paolo tried cutting his ties to the Church so many years ago, believing he would be better off without it. He was convinced that it had been the right decision, and that belief was the one he had stuck with ever since. Like so many things in his life right now though, that belief had been shaken… The demon hunter sighed quietly and made for the heavy wooden doors of the church. Contemplating this now was of no use. What had to be done had to be done quickly, and if there was one thing he had become aware of this afternoon, it was that he couldn't do it alone.

Night was already falling as he stepped out to the - at least to him - unusually quiet street in front of the church. It was as if the city held its breath, somehow aware that something was terribly wrong, without knowing what exactly it was. Turning his back to the setting sun, Paolo closed his eyes and started a quiet, short chant in Old Latin. When nothing happened, he started again.

 

"Oh, would you please stop it? That's wholly unnecessary, Paolo," came a voice from behind him.

The demon hunter turned on his heel and watched incredulously as Sandro lowered the newspaper he had been hiding behind and got up from the bench by the church.

"Why are you here?"

The demon chuckled and threw the tabloid into the nearest dustbin before approaching his lover. "You were just calling for me - why so defensive?"

"Because you've probably been sitting there for at least half an hour, that's if you didn't have the gall to enter the church to look for new prey," Paolo replied with way less vehemence and considerably more relief than he had intended.

"You're mine, Paolo. Did you honestly think you could get rid of me that easily?"

The demon hunter's answer was a non-committal sound rather than actual words, and he turned around to go to his car, certain that Sandro would follow. As he slipped into the driver's seat, something dug into his thigh. Contorting himself so he could reach into his jeans' pocket, he withdrew the rosary Father Alberto had given him and ran a reverent thumb over the small cross attached to it.

"Oh no. You didn't let yourself be talked into that bullshit again, did you?" Sandro asked from the passenger's seat, but Paolo ignored him and carefully slipped the beads over the rear-view mirror, watching the rosary dangle there for a moment before he turned the key in the ignition and carefully pulled into traffic.

When Sandro hadn't said anything for five minutes, Paolo, rather concerned by this uncharacteristic behaviour, shot a wary glance at the incubus when they had to wait at a traffic light. "Is everything alright?"

"Ridiculous question, wouldn't you think?" Sandro asked quietly and put an uncharacteristically gentle hand over Paolo's that was now resting on the gear shift. "I know that look in your eyes. I can read what you are thinking right now, and let me tell you, don't even go there. We'll ban Eurynome back to Hell, this won't be the infamous last day for any of us."

Paolo sighed despite himself. It was in moments like these that he knew why he had kept Sandro around all this time.

\--

The ride to Ibrahimovic Technologies passed in silence. Paolo pulled into a private parking space at the back of the building, just in time to see Dejan get out of his own car.

Paolo was grateful that Dejan, apart from raising an eyebrow, didn't find it necessary to comment on what had transpired that afternoon, and instead just waited for them to catch up with him.

"And you are absolutely sure we can trust Zlat--," Sandro started.

"I don't think that should be a question at this point," came a voice from the backdoor. Luis was half-hidden in the shadows and gestured for the three men to come in. "We've been waiting for you."

They followed the young man deeper into the house, and Paolo had to smile at the matching looks of discomfort on Sandro's and Dejan's faces.

When they entered the room, the demon was standing behind a bar in the far right corner. He downed a glass of whiskey and stepped forward. He didn't bother asking the others to take a seat and just smiled somewhat sardonically at the glare he received from Sandro.

"I take it you have come prepared for what's about to happen," the businessman said, following Dejan with his eyes as the officer was wandering the room with a star-struck look on his face. "All of you, I might add."

Dejan turned around and blinked at the hard tone of the voice behind him. Instead of being intimidated though, he walked over to the businessman and extended his hand. "Officer Dejan Stankovic. Pretty much a personal trainee of Mr. Maldini over there when it comes to demonology and, well, what other stuff exists that I hadn't believed in until a couple of years ago. And uhm… Is that an August Macke back there?"

The Serb pointed to the colourful painting behind his back, his eyes bright, making Zlatan snort and shake the officer's hand with a small laugh. "Zlatan Ibrahimovic. I can appreciate someone who has an eye for art even in times of imminent disasters. I get the feeling not everyone in this room does."

Zlatan turned on his heel and fixed the demon hunter with a challenging look. "Maldini, if you can assure me that Mr. Stankovic will indeed be of help in this case, I will be okay with him tagging along. Though don't expect me to save his ass should that prove necessary."

Paolo had warned Dejan about the demon's nature, so the officer just shrugged behind the businessman's back and let Paolo do the talking. "I can assure you there will be no need for that. And wouldn't you be the first one to know having friends in all the right positions is never bad?"

"Touché," the demon replied and approached the bar again. On its countertop, various weapons were laid out in clinical precision; Zlatan put them on as he resumed talking.

"I've sent a dozen of my best men - and demons - ahead. You might be talented, Paolo Maldini, maybe even your incubus is, but a little bit of back-up never hurt anyone. Luis informed me about the state of your research… Well, gentlemen, I daresay we've got our work cut out for us. I am not going to give up this city."

Sandro was about to snap at the other demon, but was stopped by Paolo's elbow connecting heavily with his ribcage. "I don't think any of us wants to give up the city, though our reasons might be different."

"I am glad we have found such a fine agreement then. It is about time we stopped the chatter though. I, for one, intended to get something done today." Zlatan straightened his cuffs and reached for another weapon just as Luis tried to take it off the counter. "No, Luis. You will be staying here."

"But master, I can help you! I am the only one who can See, you must --"

"No, Luis. Your place is here, you will stay where it is… safe." The last word was said quietly before Zlatan let go of Luis's arm.

"Luis is right. A psychic would--"

"He is none of your concern, Maldini!" the businessman snarled, his annoyance palpable for everyone in the room as the temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees.

"But I want to go, Zlatan. You must not go on your own," Luis almost whispered, a careful hand touching Zlatan's cheek to get his attention.

"Luis, you will obey me." The demon answered more harshly than he had intended, and fixed his boy with a hard glare before the look in his eyes softened and he ran his fingertips over Luis's forehead gently, as if to brush the hair out of his eyes. "I will know if you don't."

With that, Zlatan strapped on the last of his guns and left through a door in the back, not even bothering to check whether the others would follow.

Luis fell to his knees, his eyes going darker with every step Zlatan took away from him. Sandro tried to turn away, tried to follow Paolo from the room, but something halfway human inside of him kept him from leaving so quickly. Watching to be sure that Paolo was out of earshot, Sandro knelt beside the young man, taking one of his shaking hands in his own. "Paolo is a skilled fighter and Zlatan is powerful. I promise nothing will happen."

"You can't promise that, incubus. You have no Sight. You cannot See what will happen. You have no power to make those promises," Luis whispered, his voice so vulnerable and scared.

Sandro shrugged. "It just seemed like the right thing to say."

"You wouldn't understand," Luis said. "You wouldn't understand how much I need him."

"Try me," Sandro snapped, slipping a finger under the young man's chin, forcing the psychic to look him in the eye. "I know what your master feels, little one. I've taken a mortal lover. I've taken many."

Luis blinked slowly, time seeming to slow around him. "But Paolo Maldini... you worry for him like none of your others."

"SANDRO!" Paolo's voice came calling up the stairs. "I WILL LEAVE WITHOUT YOU!"

"Paolo Maldini is the one you would bind -"

"That's not what we're talking about," Sandro said, cutting him off. "Please. I don't need anyone telling me what's in my deep, dark little soul, alright? Just... I get Zlatan on this one. Don't worry. It'll... work out."

A single blood-tinged tear rolled down Luis's cheek. "You think you know what is to come. You all think you know. Where there is one Horde, there are Many."

"We'll protect the city."

Luis shook his head. "And if the city isn't the target? If taking the city is just a means to a different sort of end? If Zambrotta woke something darker and older than Eurynome with his tricks?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You should go," Luis whispered. "Paolo is waiting. He will not survive this if you are not with him."

Sandro cocked an eyebrow. "You're fucking creepy, you know that right?"

"I've been told," Luis said, his lip still trembling even as a small smile began to play across his lips. "But I don't think you have any right to talk, incubus. Have you shown Paolo your true self yet? Do you believe he will still love you when you take away that pretty face and perfect body?"

Sandro stood up so quickly that even Luis did not see him move. "He loves me. Me, not this body."

Luis's eyes went dark again and he stared through Sandro, through the walls and windows and into the distance. "You must go now. We'll talk another time. When you're ready."

Sandro bit into his lip before turning quickly and rushing down after his lover and their friends. Luis stood up slowly as the door swung closed behind the incubus. His heart stuck against his rib cage, feeling as though it would catch fire in its desperate attempt to follow Zlatan. Deep breath, he told himself, deep.

Then he heard the car start and all of his concentration flew out the window. Clutching his chest, uselessly trying to cool the burning pain that was now creeping up his throat, Luis collapsed in a chair. He slouched over and let his forehead rest against the cold wood surface of Zlatan's desk.

Then he Saw it, the burning skin and blood that soaked the floor. He heard the screaming of Horde demons and the weeping of someone in the distance. He could smell sulfur and ash and the rot of the demon worlds. He knew he was Seeing the battle for the city. He knew he was Seeing the truth. And in the back of his throat, something tickled. He thought for a moment that he would throw up, the smell of flesh filling his nostrils. His stomach turned and, leaning over, his mouth fell open.

And Zlatan's name -- his real name, the name he was given in the beginning -- came pouring out in a language never spoken by a mortal tongue. It rang through the building with such a desperate sorrow that even the spell Zlatan had cast to keep his lover safe, even that spell shook deeper into the earth, struggling to maintain its hold over the psychic.

He was still trembling when he looked up through the window and over the city. He was still shaking uncontrollably when he opened his mind, reaching out for the one person he knew could help them all now.


	11. Chapter 11

Andrea listened to the door falling shut. In his mind, he counted every step Paolo took, from their door down to the sidewalk and then the eleven steps it took his friend to reach the car, his heart growing heavier with each second. He rushed to the window as he heard the engine rev, his vision growing hazy as the tears started sliding down his cheeks again. A voice inside his head screamed for him to run after Paolo, to beg him for forgiveness, to lie, to say anything that could return things to the way they had been before, but his feet stayed glued to the floor and refused to budge until the car had long vanished.

The sound of the neighbours' door being slammed shut made Andrea jump. He wiped at his eyes furiously, just now becoming aware that he'd been clutching his rosary the whole time, the beads leaving deep imprints on his palms.

He turned around, not sure how much time had passed since Paolo had left, not sure what he was supposed to do now. Andrea wanted to bury himself in his blankets, draw the covers up over his head and pretend none of this had happened, but he knew it wouldn't work.

Placing his rosary on his desk, Andrea caught sight of the letter sitting there, his name carefully written in Paolo's strong handwriting.

Andrea reached for it with a shaky, nervous hand, then sat down on his bed and carefully took out the sheets of paper.

\--

The researcher was reading the letter for the third time, not wanting to believe that Paolo would ask him to stay at home, not when he seemed to be sure that he would die that night - why else would he have written this letter otherwise? Why would he have left such careful instructions? But he couldn't just ignore Paolo's plea for him to stay put rather than going out after them. Andrea wasn't trained, and --

Andrea yelped when a violent surge of pain shot through his head. Groaning, he doubled over, Paolo's letter crumpled in his hand as he tried to start breathing again. The pictures he had been assaulted with lingered in his mind - the city was burning, there was nothing but pain and suffering, and death. So much death…

"Andrea? Andrea!"

The researcher lifted his head, searching for the source of the voice. "I… Who is there?"

"Andrea, you need to go, they need you. I saw what will happen - Andrea, they will need you. We all will."

"Luis?" Andrea blinked and sat up slowly, suddenly seeing the other man in his mind. He seemed to be in a dimly lit room, a desk laid out with books; Zlatan's office, probably.

"Yes, it is me. Andrea, you need to go. They don't know what you know, they cannot See what I Saw. But I can help you. I cannot leave, but you can. You know where they are. Please go, Andrea. Please."

Andrea wanted to protest that he couldn't possibly be of any help, but then he saw again what Luis had Seen, watched his friends die at the hands of Eurynome before the Hordes spread through the city like a black sickness, leaving no room for the faintest glimmer of hope.

Luis had completely opened his mind to him, and what Andrea witnessed frightened him to the very core of his being. It also gave him the last push he needed to make up his mind.

Luis knew it before Andrea had said the words, and Andrea felt calm settle over him as he got up and grabbed everything he needed.

"I will do whatever I can to keep them safe, Luis. I'll watch out over them like you did, I… you will see him again."

Andrea could feel Luis' presence linger for a moment, heard his soft words of thanks before he slowly retreated, and suddenly Andrea had the feeling that he understood Luis just as well as Luis understood him. Maybe this knowledge was the only comfort there was for either of them tonight.

\--

Paolo had parked deep in the shadows some yards behind the storehouse. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Lamps illuminated the front of the building, insects flitting in and out of the cones of light; not a sound was to be heard.

Zlatan had assured the other three men that all security issues had been taken care of, but none of them could know what would greet them inside.

"I am sick of waiting. I say we get this over with." Dejan was already half out of the car when Sandro stopped him with a firm grip to his shoulder.

"We can't just bound inside," he hissed and fixed an icy glare on Zlatan in the rearview mirror. "I think you should go first."

"Sandro, I do not think this is the time for personal quarrels," Paolo snapped.

Zlatan just shrugged and gifted Sandro with a condescending smile.

"Your little demon lover is right, Paolo - I am by far the most powerful of our group, and if he knows what's good for him, Zambrotta will listen to me and understand it's his last chance to come out of this alive. I will take the front entrance, I suggest one of you follows me ten minutes later while the others take to the side doors. And assuming Zambrotta raises some sort of alarm when I go in, it should be easy for the rest of you to follow, with all their attention focused on me. As soon as my people hear that the fighting has started, they will come and join us."

No-one said a word. "I'll take that as a yes. See you all inside." Paolo was the only one to see the minute faltering to Zlatan's smirk before the demon got out of the car and confidently rounded the storehouse.

"Cocky bastard. I think I like him," Dejan snorted and shook off Sandro's hand, finally getting out of the car, quickly followed by the other two. They all went about checking their weapons one final time in silence.

"I will go in after him. They'll expect to see me. You two take the sides - it's not that much of an element of surprise, but we need to take whatever we can get. Good luck to you, we will all need it tonight," Paolo said quietly, his hand instinctively going to the talisman hidden by his shirt.

Dejan nodded mutely and pulled Paolo into a hug before slinking off into the shadows. He had sensed the tension between Paolo and Sandro, and seeing what lay ahead of them, he figured he should give them a moment.

"Don't do anything foolish in there, Paolo. It took me long enough to find you."

"And I'm too old to get used to anyone else. Take care of yourself, Sandro." They didn't embrace, didn't offer each other any kind of comfort or promise. It was time.

\--

Zlatan was not a careful creature by nature. Being almost entirely immortal will do that to a person... demon. He had long ago convinced himself that facing danger, discomfort or even pain straight on was the best way to go about things. It tended to get it over with a little more quickly, and allowed him to get back to his regular life -- soaking up all the beautiful, sensuous pleasures that Earth could provide -- as soon as possible.

However, as Zlatan turned the corner, a powerful wind of dark energy hit the demon square in the chest, and he wondered if maybe he had been wrong about this whole head-first philosophy. This wasn't the sort of power that any ordinary demon would have been able to conjure. Yes, Eurynome was definitely here.

Zlatan pressed himself against the wall and peeked around only when the wind had died down. Gianluca, check. Eurynome -- disgusting (even for a demon) -- but check. And next to them, a shivering Lionel, the fear spilling off him almost visibly to Zlatan. There were no Horde demons immediately in sight. Zlatan wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not.

The demon took a heavy breath and stepped out in the open, flashing what he hoped looked like a convincing smile. "Gianluca! I have to say that --"

Gianluca waved a hand through the air, silencing Zlatan with another burst of energy. "Don't. Don't even start with me, Zlatan Ibrahimovic. You had every chance in the world to have this city, powerful as you are. It's almost unfortunate that you were too much of a coward to claim what would have been rightfully yours. But now... now it is just too late."

Gianluca smiled, gazing over lovingly at Eurynome. "Just look what I have done. Without your amazing gifts." Gianluca's eyes flickered up to meet Zlatan's. "Look what I have done. You couldn't even dream of this."

Zlatan nodded in an awkward agreement. "Yeah. It's sort of... amazing. Gianluca... what exactly HAVE you done?"

If it had been possible for Gianluca's smile to spread further across his face, it would have. The shorter man lifted his hands, palms to the ceiling, and whispered something just under his breath. Out of every shadow and crevice crept a single Horde demon, each of which split into six in the space of a breath, a supernatural army assembling itself around Eurynome, the businessman and Leo.

Zlatan gulped a little too audibly. "Wow. That's a lot of Horde demons."

Leo slipped up closer to Gianluca and tugged at his sleeve, whispering desperately. Gianluca rolled his eyes. "There is no end to this sort of power, Zlatan. This is the power that will take the city. This is the power that has already taken the city."

Dejan bit painfully into his lip and stepped out of his own hiding place. "Oh, you didn't just say that!"

Sandro almost fell over himself seeing Dejan step into the open so quickly, fumbling uncharacteristically to get into the room, raking his hair back from his eyes with a hurried hand. Paolo followed after them, but much more coolly, holding his head high, his eyes gleaming. "You have taken nothing until you've dealt with us."

Gianluca gave a laugh so rich it crawled over their skins and gave each of Paolo's team a shiver. "Paolo Maldini, right? I wondered when I would finally have the pleasure. But you must realize that this is hopeless, for you at least? I have an army for every soldier you have."

"An army you can't control!" Paolo started, glancing around at the Horde demons that surrounded them, many of them licking their lips in excitement. "Do these creatures look like the sort that a human, a human without any supernatural abilities, could rule? This army belongs to Hell, this army is NOT YOURS!"

Gianluca's face burned red, his lips pressed together. "You don't... you have no idea about the power I have. Know this: you're going to die by it."

Paolo's eyes narrowed as he waited for Gianluca to make some sort of psychic attack. Instead, Eurynome slammed forward, pushing Paolo to the floor so quickly that the demon hunter hadn't even seen the creature move. He could hear Sandro screaming in the distance, but Eurynome's breathing was heavy with bloodlust and so loud that it filled his ears.

Dejan watched for only a moment as Sandro pulled two shining knives seemingly from nowhere, burying them deep in two Horde demons before kicking backward into the stomach of a third. Pulling out his gun, struggling not to shake with that painful mix of fear and anger, Dejan took aim and fired several shots, hitting demons not because of his careful aim, but rather from the amazing density of Horde demons descending on him.

Zlatan caught Zambrotta's eye as the Italian started grinning, overlooking the Hordes fighting.

"I'll wipe that damn grin right off your face," Zlatan growled, then concentrated on the six demons coming his way. With a simple flick of his wrist, he had half of them flying backwards, then dashed forward and kicked one of them in the chest, throwing it back against another. Zlatan sidestepped the third that was charging for his side and snapped its back without much of an effort. It was relatively easy for him to handle them, all things considered - you didn't survive millennium after millennium if you didn't know how to deal with trouble, be it human, demonic, economic or a mixture of all three.

It was the fact that ten new Horde demons seemed to replace every dead one that could prove to be a bit disastrous to their plans of survival, and not even Zlatan's men that had now joined the fighting could change that.

While the others fought, Paolo had managed to wrestle away from Eurynome, though not without suffering some damage. There were long gashes down his side where the demon's claws had torn through his clothes, and though they were shallow enough, Paolo could feel the blood seeping down his side, his shirt and trouser sticking to the skin.

"I like it when they fight, nothing compares to that taste," Eurynome hissed, fuelled by the smell of blood, and Paolo felt a lump rise in his throat as he watched that atrocity of a smile transform the Hell Prince's face. "I promise to kill you quickly before I feast on you. You are one of the few worthy of that honour."

Paolo tried not to pay attention to Eurynome's words, instead focusing on even the slightest shift of the demon's muscles. He couldn't match Eurynome's speed, but if he learned to read him just the tiniest bit, he might survive a few minutes longer.

In the mayhem that exploded in the storehouse, Dejan lost sight of his friends. He had known that some scary shit was about to happen, but this… if he survived this, he knew what would visit him in the nightmares to come. Putting his last magazine into his gun, Dejan knew he was running out of luck. He was cornered against the far wall of the storehouse, something more and more Horde demons seemed to pick up on. "I would be so much better off if I minded my own business…" he grumbled, as he was greeted with nothing but an empty click when he pulled the trigger of his gun.

Twisting the weapon in his hand, Dejan lunged forward to hit out with it, though it didn't seem to matter to the countless demons coming his way. Dejan sank to his knees as three attacked at the same time, not able to block their blows.

As if in slow motion, he watched the rotten, blackened arm of one of the Horde demons reach out for him. The hand closed around his neck, and as the sharp nails bit into his skin, he knew he would die tonight, and the worst thing about it was that he could not prevent his city to fall.

Suddenly, a screeching noise filled the air, and the demons around him crumbled to dust in a flash of light. Then Dejan was yanked upright and away from the wall.

"Didn't I say I wouldn't save your ass?! I'm not a fucking babysitter!" Zlatan rolled his eyes, then pressed two guns with spare ammunition into Dejan's hands. "They must want you to die when all you get is that single lousy weapon. You should work for me, not for the police. You might live longer."

Before Dejan could answer, the demon had shoved him out of the way as the next surge of Horde demons came their way.

\--

Eurynome was taking his time with Paolo, counting on his blood loss to weaken his opponent, like a cat toying with a mouse. The demon hunter knew that, but there was hardly anything he could do about it now. The sweat was running down his back, and he was slowly but surely running out of breath. Clutching the knife in his hand a little bit tighter, Paolo straightened up and turned his body sideways, trying to protect his injured flank from the attack he could see coming.

But the anticipated impact of Eurynome's next launch never came. Sandro had finally managed to fight his way through the Horde demons separating him from his lover, and one of his knives hit Eurynome mid-flight, right before Sandro knocked into the Prince's shoulder and toppled him to the side.

"And you think this can stop me?" Eurynome laughed cruelly and jumped to his feet again, the knife clattering to the ground, leaving a wound that was minimal at best.

Eurynome's laughter stopped as Sandro attacked him again - Paolo had never seen his lover move that fast, had never seen that expression on his face, had never seen the true demon inside the way he did now. But now was not the time to think about the implications of that. Just as he aimed his knife to imbed it in Eurynome's chest, Paolo noticed Zambrotta from the corner of his eye. The businessman seemed to be chanting incessantly, as if by that alone he could -- and then it hit Paolo.

"It's Zambrotta! Not Eurynome commands the herds, he does! We need to stop him!" Paolo yelled to be heard over the commotion of the fight, hoping that Zlatan or Dejan could get to the Italian quickly to incapacitate him.

Instead, his only response was another round of thick, cocky laughter from Gianluca Zambrotta, as the businessman took a few more steps from the battle, continuing the rhythm of his chant. Paolo started for him, praying hard that Sandro would be able to handle Eurynome until he could get to Gianluca.

One step forward and Paolo was yanked to the floor by a Horde demon, its long, sharp nails digging into Paolo's leg. He screamed in pain before kicking the creature to the side and shooting it, only to have it replaced for four new demons, forming a wall between him and Gianluca.

"You can't win here, demon hunter, " Gianluca voice rang out, disturbingly loud over the noises of demons and ... more demons. "Surrender. And perhaps I'll make my Hordes leave enough of you for your parents to bury."

Paolo's grip tightened around his knife. "You really don't have any idea who you're dealing wi--"

It felt like a vacuum at first, all the noise in the room dying down to nothing but desperate breathing from Dejan and Paolo and a painful gurgling from Gianluca, his laughter so instantly changed. Then, for the shortest second, Paolo felt lifted, as though he had just been stripped of a heavy set of chains. It wasn't until the Hordes around him began to aimlessly scamper that the scene was revealed.

Andrea was standing in the farthest door, the gun Gennaro had insisted on selling him a few months ago still smoking in his hand. Gianluca, falling to the ground, his shirt thick with blood.

"Andrea?" Paolo whispered, not really expecting a response but needing to say his roommate's name regardless.

The gun clattered to the floor, Andrea's hands shaking uncontrollably. The others clung more desperately to their weapons, expecting another attack. But the Horde demons didn't move, didn't care for revenge. Instead, like dogs, they began to sniff the air, many of them crouching down as though on the hunt. Even Eurynome seemed dazed. Paolo swallowed hard, "Zlatan?"

The demon had crept up behind Paolo, pressing their backs together so they would still be able to watch for attacks. "Yes?"

"What are they doing?"

"Horde demons aren't very smart, Paolo. They're animals. They... feed. And they'll feed until they kill themselves from the gluttony of it. Horde demons need a master, guidance, rules."

Paolo pressed his lips together. "And, um, Andrea might have just killed their master."

Zlatan nodded. "Yeah."

"What do we do?" Paolo said carefully, watching a few of the demons begin to climb the walls, sniffing as they did.

"Hell if I know," Zlatan answered. "But this isn't good, Paolo. This is NOT GOOD."

Zlatan broke away from Paolo and pulled out another small gun from his back pocket and took aim at Eurynome. The demon glared hard at Zlatan, opening his mouth and letting out a roar that shook the walls. The Horde demons whined back at him before pouring out of the doors and into the city.

"And, Paolo? It just got much worse."

Eurynome smiled and took a step towards them.

+

Sandro rushed to Gianluca, pushing Leo from his master's side, the younger man's hands already covered in blood. The boy's eyes burned with tears and he clawed at Sandro, trying to get back to Gianluca, begging him to hold on, promising that he would be fine.

"You're an idiot if you believe that," Sandro said, shaking his head as he ripped open Gianluca's shirt to examine the wound. "He's ... that was a fatal shot. Nicely done, Andrea."

Gianluca smiled, his teeth covered in blood. "You... this is..."

"Shut up," Sandro spat, pressing hard on the wound to slow the bleeding. "You're going to die, you know that. This city... it's not yours and it never will be."

Leo released Sandro's shirt and reached over gently to touch Gianluca's cheek. "Master..."

"Banish Eurynome back to Hell," Sandro said quickly. "Him and his Hordes, and maybe I'll ease your suffering a bit."

"You have to be joking," Gianluca said with another one of this thick laughs. "What do I owe this city? Why would I give it to you?!"

Sandro stared in disbelief at the dying man. "You're not giving it to me! You're saving it from sure destruction. Did you not just see YOUR demons escape to God knows where? To eat babies and rape women and all that? Or whatever the Hordes do on their off days?"

"Not a great time to make a joke, Sandro," Dejan said, poking the incubus's back as he came up to the scene, guns still drawn.

Gianluca shook his head, leaning back into a pool of his own blood. "I die. So will this city."

Sandro stood up, realizing that nothing would help and kicked the businessman hard in the stomach, not even taking pleasure from the blood-drenched scream of pain that it brought out. "Fucking bastard."

"What do we do?" Dejan said, his eyes big as he looked over at Sandro.

Leo scrambled from his place on the floor and pressed his face against Gianluca's chest. "Master, please. Please, you can't leave me like this. I don't... I can't do this alone."

"What do we DO, Sandro?" Dejan asked again.

Sandro stared down at Leo and Gianluca. "Zambrotta had no supernatural powers of his own. I can smell that. But what he did have was his little assistant."

Sandro grabbed Leo's collar and pulled him to feet, the incubus letting his human facade flicker just enough for the young man to see hints of the creature beneath. "You can help us."

"He told me no one would be hurt," Leo pleaded.

"You can redeem yourself... or, at least, you can save your own pathetic little life," Sandro said, tightening his grip, pulling the young man close enough that they might have kissed. "You know what he did. You know how to stop it."

"Help him..." Leo barely whispered.

"Your master is dying, and then YOU will have the blood of hundreds, maybe thousands, of citizens on your hand. Are you prepared for that?!"

Leo's bottom lip quivered and he started to turn back to his master's dying body, but Sandro grabbed his chin and kept him close. Lionel took a deep breath and shook his head. "No. I'm not."

Sandro nodded. "Then tell me. What did he do? Where did he get this information, this power?"

Leo's eyes were wide now, the tears running down his face unheeded. Even though Sandro was only inches away from his face, he could barely hear the words the boy spoke. "Practical Demon Protection for the Vigilant Christian."

Sandro's eyes narrowed. He didn't even bother masking the demonic change that came to his eyes as they flashed with silver. Grabbing the boy's collar tighter, he lifted Leo up so his feet left the ground and shook him angrily. "Are you fucking kidding me?! Do you think I could not kill you before you batted an eye? I thought I had made myself clear!"

Leo sobbed and shook his head. "But it is true! It's in there! It's… Fifth chapter, page 154, I marked it! It's here! I brought it along."

The small man practically flew three yards as Sandro pushed him away. "Get it! Show me! And you had better been telling the truth."

Scrambling to his feet, Lionel dashed to his bag, carelessly dropped near the side door. He pulled out the book and handed it over to the Incubus, his eyes darting to the now still body of his former master. "He promised not to hurt anyone…"

Sandro ignored him, instead reading out the three lines marked on the page. "What the fuck is that?! Did they pull that out of their arses?!"

"It's not one of the tongues of men." It was Andrea. Sandro barely recognised the voice as the researcher spoke, slumped down near Gianluca's head, still shaking violently even though Dejan had wrapped him up both in his jacket and his arms, trying to get some warmth back into the small researcher's limbs.

"But I don't recognise… Zlatan! Zlatan, we need you! You've lived longer than any of us - what language is it?!" Sandro called out for the other demon who was circling Eurynome with Paolo, sweat running down his body from the effort of keeping the Prince of Hell in check and preventing him from a. killing either of them and b. following his hordes (that were hopefully taken care of by Zlatan's men in the meantime).

"You HAVE to be KIDDING me," Zlatan growled and sidestepped another of Eurynome's attacks, managing to circle around and shoot him in the back yet again, even though he knew it was useless. "Read it out again! And loudly this time," he yelled at Sandro who, for once, didn't even think of bitching about the tone of Zlatan's voice and just complied.

"I don't know what it says! I've spoken so many languages since the Beginning, do you really expect me to remember them all, Nesta?! It could be fucking Akkadian, for all I know!"

"Some help you are! Andrea said it wasn't human -- wait. These are the words of Nergal…" Sandro trailed off as he recognised the supposed battle cry of the Babylonian God of War. "Maybe to draw them back, I need to…"

Sandro started reading the spell out again, this time backwards. With every word, his voice grew in volume. Time seemed to still as he went along, and when he was finished, not a sound could be heard.

Paolo and Zlatan almost feared what Sandro had done when Eurynome raised his arms and suddenly stopped moving altogether, and then a strange sound filled the air, like swarms of locusts coming nearer. Then the doors to the storehouse burst open and all the Horde demons came crawling in, Zlatan's minions still on their heels.

There was the same vacant quality to the Hordes' movements now, much like immediately after Zambrotta had been shot. 

"Well, fuck me, but I think I did it," Sandro said disbelievingly, but with more than a hint of smugness creeping into his voice. Everyone seemed to share that sentiment.

Unfortunately, Eurynome was the first to get his bearings back, and he lunged at the attacker nearest him which happened to be Zlatan. They toppled to the ground together, and Zlatan had to admit that he had been in far more pleasant situations than having a Prince of Hell pinning him down and trying to rip out his throat. But suddenly Eurynome let go and stumbled backwards, hatred-filled eyes settling on Paolo, who quickly released his hold on the demon, stunned to find what he had thought was a futile effort to help Zlatan had actually worked.

The demon hunter followed Eurynome's eyes and realised that the demon was hissing at the talisman that had escaped from under Paolo's shirt during the fighting.

Without thinking, Paolo threw himself forward and onto the giant demon, then ripped off his necklace and pushed the carving into the cut Sandro had made in Eurynome's side.

An absolutely terrifying wail split the night, and both Paolo and Zlatan were knocked backwards by a wave of power that erupted from where Eurynome had lain. Then the ground opened up and the Prince of Hell vanished into the void, the shriek stopping as abruptly as it had started.

Scrambling to his feet, Paolo grabbed the talisman that had clattered to the ground, then helped Zlatan up. Turning around, they were both prepared to kill off the Horde Demons that remained, but all of them had collapsed, like puppets cut from their strings.

The silence that followed was deafening to all of them.

Paolo's feet moved on their own accord, the adrenaline still rushing through his body propelling him forward. "Sandro! Andrea…"

Sandro scrunched up his face. "Andrea?!"

Paolo fell to his knees beside Dejan and Andrea, reaching a hand out gently and brushing a few stray hairs from Andrea's eyes. "Andrea, that was amazing. What you did. Amazing and brave and -- Andrea, will you please look at me?"

Andrea looked up at his roommate through his long eyelashes, their eyes locking. Paolo started to say something, but Andrea shook his head gently.

The incubus rolled his eyes and walked over slowly, ruffling Andrea's hair to break the moment up. "You know, during the witch hunts, I had to kill one of these crazies that saw witches everywhere when he tried to murder a perfectly nice girl (by today's standards, anyway). Granted, she was a great lay, too, but ... you get my point. I killed him and you know what? I didn't feel bad about it because he was a bad guy. And really, Andrea... this guy deserved it."

Andrea didn't laugh, but he took the hint and buried his head in Dejan's chest, not wanting to start Sandro off.

Zlatan and a couple of the older demons in his employ had gathered around Gianluca's body, one of them trying to loosen Leo's grip on his master.

"Please, he didn't mean to do this," Lionel pleaded. "He didn't want to hurt anyone. He would never have hurt me! AND YOU KILLED HIM!"

Zlatan gestured to his followers. "Hernan, please make sure that no one is coming. I want all frequencies scanned for any reports of injuries. Or for calls about the noise. Anything, I want to know it all. And get Luis on the phone. I want... I need to talk to him."

The other demon nodded, bowing a little to his master as he dashed out of the storage center. Zlatan watched him go, then turned on Leo so quickly that the turn itself frightened the young man. The demon growled and grabbed at the boy's shirt. "You are lucky to be alive, little one. Unfortunately, luck is not something I entirely believe in." Zlatan pressed a hand against the boy's chest. "You too will die for the pain you have caused."

Leo seemed to barely register the words, his fists coming up to beat uselessly against Zlatan's shoulder. "How could you KILL HIM?!"

The demon's eyes narrowed and he tightened his hold on Leo even further. Then Zlatan opened his mouth to say the ancient words that would kill Gianluca's little pet --

"Stop."

Paolo's command was simple and almost too quiet.

"Stop, Zlatan. We can't kill the boy. He didn't know what was happening anymore than..."

"Didn't know?" Zlatan said, dropping Leo like a ragdoll to the floor. "He was the one that found the books. He was here the entire time and didn't do a thing to stop it. He deserves to rot with his master in the lowest levels of Hell for what he has done."

"Says a demon with no right to judge," Paolo said with a tone of finality in his voice. "Zlatan, we couldn't be them. We don't know the whole story. We might never know. But we can't kill this boy like this. Not right now."

Zlatan glared at Paolo, but didn't reach for Leo again. Instead, he looked down at the boy and spit on him. "You will hurt so badly you can't even die if you so much as think of speaking my name, or Paolo's name, or anyone else's to the police. Do you understand that? Do you know how loudly I could make you scream if I wanted to?"

Leo peeked up at Zlatan, his eyes filling with tears again.

"Your master was not the only one with a psychic in his employ," Zlatan said, crouching down to look him straight in the eyes. "But mine... mine could fuck with your mind so deeply... you don't want that."

Leo shook his head. "I'll help you."

"Help us?" Zlatan said, "Really?"

"I'm trained in many of the ancient arts," Leo started, speaking so quickly he tripped over his tongue. "I know all the names and numbers of my master's employees and contacts all over the world. I can help you."

Zlatan nodded. "Paolo. Maybe you were right not to kill this one. He might have some information that could help us really clean this up right. We don't want any of Gianluca's hires to come visiting us... wondering what became of their beloved master."

"Right," Paolo said. "I'll need you to go with Zlatan to his offices in the morning. You're going to make some phone calls for us."

Leo nodded, reaching over carefully and taking his dead master's hand. "I have to fix this. For him."

"For yourself," Zlatan said, laying a hand on Leo's shoulder.

Paolo nodded and craned his neck to see Dejan searching the area, having left Andrea to Sandro. "What do you think?"

Dejan shrugged. "I think we're going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble if we don't figure out what to do with these bodies. Paolo, this is not something that will go unnoticed. Look how many of them there are."

"Don't worry about it," Paolo said. "We can take care of the bodies. Demon flesh is difficult to dispose of, but Andrea found this ancient Persian method a few years back and --"

"It's not just the bodies," Dejan said, sounding completely defeated. "There was too much noise. Someone will have noticed. My team is quick. They'll be here soon if they're not outside waiting. You guys need to get out of here."

"You're kidding right?"

"I'm not," Dejan insisted. "I can try to cover for you guys when they show up. I'm high enough in the system, I might be able to --"

"I'm not going to have you risking your job for us!" Paolo said, hopping over another Horde demon corpse to get to Dejan.

"And if you end up in jail?" Dejan pointed out. "I love this city. I don't want it to be royally fucked because its greatest protector got himself locked up."

"Dejan..."

"You've shown me what's out there," Dejan said, looking down at his feet. "I can't protect all these people from those things, but you can. You're not losing much from the team if Dejan Stankovic gets put away."

"That's not true."

Sandro hopped to his feet. "But he is right, Paolo. We need to go. We have no idea what people outside heard or what the Horde did when they escaped the storage unit. We need to regroup and think about what to do. And this is not the place to do it."

Paolo glanced down at Andrea, who nodded slowly. "What they said."

Zlatan reached out for the researcher and pulled him to his feet. "Then we'd better start getting rid of some demonic bodies. Tell me how to do it."

"We need to get some rock salt first, I…"

Zlatan smiled widely, the first of his smiles that Andrea had seen that was infused with warmth rather than contempt or superiority. "Just tell me. I've lived long enough to know of ways to enhance spells."

"Oh my God, you do? You need to tell me some--" Andrea perked up, some of the light returning to his eyes, then shut up and blushed. "Sorry."

Zlatan snorted good-naturedly and mussed Andrea's hair, catching Paolo's eyes while doing so and nodding to the demon hunter with a new sort of awareness about the researcher.

While Andrea told Zlatan what to do, Dejan instructed the latter's minions to collect and clean each and every weapon they could find. Just as the officer grabbed the two spare guns he had gotten from Zlatan, and left next to Gianluca's body, a sudden draught picked up. Dejan turned around to find its source.

Zlatan was muttering under his breath, the words foreign and beautiful and terrible, one hand held out before him, the other clutching one of Andrea's while the researcher chanted in unison with Zlatan. The dead Horde demons slowly dissolved into what looked like flakes of dark dust, sweeping upwards before vanishing into nothingness.

"Andrea, you are good," was all Zlatan had to offer when everything was finished.

"Master, we need to go." Hernan stepped up to them. "I checked the frequencies - the demons hadn't made it all the way into the city, there's no word about them, but three calls about suspicious noises emanating from these storehouses reached the police. They'll be here any minute now. We need to go. And I have Luis on the phone in the car. Master?"

Zlatan nodded and turned to Andrea, Paolo and Sandro. "You heard him. We will meet again tomorrow morning. 10am, my place. Don't be late." He smirked, then turned around and jogged out of the storehouse, following his men to where their cars had been hidden.

Sandro had already grabbed Andrea's arm and was pulling him into the direction of the side entrance, but Paolo lingered behind. The demon hunter laid a careful hand on Dejan's arm, his eyes dead serious as he pulled back from the chaste kiss he had pressed to the officer's cheek. "Be careful. Call me as soon as you are home. And Dejan? Thank you."

With that he turned around and ran after his lover and his best friend.

Dejan had almost forgotten about Leo, but then spotted him sitting next to Zambrotta, no longer crying, but looking far older than he could possibly be. "Boy, you've just got a second chance at life. Literally. Use it. GO!"

The boy didn't seem to comprehend what he was saying so Dejan rolled his eyes and hauled him up from the ground before pressing a $50 bill into his hand. "Run into the city. Don't be seen. Once you are far enough away from here, hail a cab. Do whatever you want, I don't care. Just go!"

Lionel seemed to get a grip on himself then and nodded, almost stumbling over his own feet in his haste to get out.


	12. Chapter 12

Dejan jogged over to where Andrea had stood when he shot Zambrotta, frantically searching the ground for the shell casing. They hadn't been fighting in this corner of the storehouse, there could only be one... He had just found and pocketed it when the front entrance slid open and Frey came in, followed by five deputies.

"Freeze!" he shouted, his gun pointed at Dejan.

"Frey, stop it. It's me, Dejan." He held up his hands to show he was unarmed.

"What are you doing here?!" Sébastien blinked at him uncomprehendingly and holstered his weapon again.

Dejan waved him off. "We are dealing with murder here, men. Spread out, search the grounds, call for backup. The man looks like he was important."

He watched his men start their crime scene routine while Frey walked over to Zambrotta's body. That's when Dejan noticed the barrel of a gun sticking out from under a wooden pallet two yards away from him. Andrea's gun. SHIT.

Casually stepping closer, he managed to toe it all the way under the low platform, just out of sight.

"A shot to the back." Sébastien's voice echoed in the now almost empty storehouse. "Officer Stankovic, do you think this has anything to do with what's been happening in the city lately?"

"I don't know. We'll find out." Or hopefully, we won't, Dejan added to himself.

Fifteen minutes later, Dejan could hear the sound of sirens approaching. Soon enough, the entire storehouse would be crawling with police and forensic, and he knew that if he wanted to get to Andrea's gun and make it vanish, he was running out of time.

The officer casually walked over and bent down, hoping that he'd appear to be doing anything but trying to block any view of his hand sneaking under the pallet to fish out a gun and withhold evidence in a case of murder.

+

This was only Gourcuff's second time at a scene of capital crime. Tagging along behind Ederson, who was taking pictures of the bullet holes near the eastern windows, he let his eyes wander. But no, he must have imagined that, surely. There was no way the thing Officer Stankovic just shoved under his shirt had been a gun, however much it had looked like one. Yoann knew him. He was a good man. He would never… would he?

"Gourcuff, pay attention, would you?" Ederson's voice was more amused than gruff as he nudged his young colleague and pointed to a series of bullet holes to their right.

"Now, how can you tell all of those are not from the same weapon?"

+

Dejan had stolen out of the storehouse as soon as he could. Maybe he should have stayed inside to watch over his men and the investigation, but that would have taken more energy than he had right now, and not only because he had spent the night fighting demons from Hell.

Bending down, his hands resting on his knees, the officer tried to breathe more easily, hating himself for craving a cigarette even as he wheezed.

"Are you okay, Officer?"

Dejan jumped at the sound of Sébastien's voice and turned around. He tried to answer but his throat was too dry so the "Of course I am" was nothing but a croak.

"You look ill," the younger man said, cutting off Dejan's second attempt to lie. "You have since we arrived. You were drenched in sweat. There's blood on your shirt."

The Serb kept his eyes indifferent as he tried to read what the other man was thinking.

"Probably happened when you checked on the victim to see whether he was still breathing, huh?"

Sébastien's voice was as calm as ever, but his eyes lingered first on the wounds on Dejan's neck and then on his eyes a moment longer than necessary, before he looked the other direction and went through the pockets of his trousers. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"Snagged these from Ederson. Well, he's owed me a pack for about a year now. The man's rubbish at cards." He held them out to his Officer.

Dejan just nodded and searched for matches to light their cigarettes. He'd known Sébastien for a few years now. He was not going to insult him and their friendship by feeding him lies and trying to talk his way out of this. So Dejan kept quiet.

"The coroner said he didn't die right away. He lived for maybe five, ten more minutes after he'd been shot. His name is, was, Gianluca Zambrotta. Apparently quite a businessman. Wasn't robbed though. Well, as you said, we'll find out." Sébastien flipped the filter of his cigarette into the gravel, but didn't turn to enter the storehouse again.

"How come you were already here?"

Some credit had to go to Dejan for not showing too much of an outer reaction to that. On the inside, though, he was frantically trying to figure out how to explain the need to bum a ride later on, because his car was still very much parked at Zlatan's.

"I was driving around when I heard about something happening out here and decided to check it out," Dejan heard himself say, stunned that he sounded like he believed it, too.

Sébastien nodded once, then turned on his heel. "Be careful, Dejan. I understand that you cannot tell me everything, I'm okay with that. Just be careful." With that Sébastien left.

Dejan just wanted to go home.

Sadly, that wish wasn't granted to him for another hour.

Gianluca Zambrotta's body had been loaded into a hearse, and God knows how they did it, but there had already been three reporters to snap pictures of it. Dejan let Frey do the talking. There were only so many times he could tell this greedy bunch that no information was to be had. Instead, he decided to take a walk, just to clear his head. He sighed gratefully as the noise of the crime scene faded into the distance. He wouldn't be able to go too far, but it would have to do.

Suddenly something to his left reflected the light of a flash going off behind him. Dejan drew his weapon, even though he knew it wasn't loaded. He cautiously stepped closer. When he saw what had caught his eye, he started chuckling, the sound half desperate, half amused.

His car.

He holstered his gun and stepped closer. The key was in the ignition. He got in and yes, it was his car, the picture of him and his little, grinning niece from their last summer vacation at Disney World stuck to the dashboard.

Then he noticed the folded note on the passenger seat.

"I thought you might need your car after all. Luis"

Dejan sent a prayer of thanks to the young man and turned the key. Yes, it really was time to go home, let his men handle the rest. This way he could think about what to write into his report, too. He waved to Frey as he drove past the warehouse. Frey didn't wave back.

\---

Sandro didn't even wait for Paolo to set down the keys, pushing him against the wall and kissing him madly, moaning deep in his throat for his lover. "We're alive, Paolo. We're ALIVE!"

Paolo ran his fingers through Sandro's hair, pulling them apart slowly and holding his lover's face just an inch from his own for a moment. "Sandro, I..."

"Yes?" The incubus asked, keeping their hips locked together, a dreamy smile slipping onto his lips.

Paolo laughed and kissed his lover's forehead. "We're alive..."

Sandro leaned into him, desperate for Paolo's touch, but the demon hunter shrugged him off gently, kissing the other man's cheek before heading towards Andrea's room. Sandro rolled his eyes and flopped down on the couch, watching Paolo, his eyes glossing over, shimmering as he used whatever power he had left in him to listen.

Andrea lay facedown on the bed, his head buried underneath a pillow. He was shivering, but Paolo knew that it wasn't from the cold. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand in the center of the researcher's back, massaging slow circles right between his shoulder blades. "Andrea?"

"I killed him," the other man whispered. "I killed him and he... he's dead and -- oh god, Paolo. Did you see that boy's face? What have I done?"

"You saved this city, Andrea Pirlo," Paolo insisted, leaning down to place a tender kiss on his roommate's cheek. "You saved me. Twice!"

Sandro coughed out in the living room, smothering it with a throw pillow. It was only his tired legs and whatever was left of his pride that kept him from barging in there and demanding that Andrea tell Paolo all about his protection spell. The incubus crossed his arms and glared hard at the door to Andrea's room, blaming him for every injustice he had even been subjected to, including the fact that the sky wasn't a pale violet 24-hours a day as had been promised way back at the Beginning, and that one time the lady at McDonald's had given him Diet Coke instead of original.

"Paolo," Andrea said, rolling over onto his back. "You did this. You are the one this city should thank. Without you, none of us..."

"Shush," Paolo whispered, kissing Andrea's other cheek. "Just... thank you. Thank you and thank you. I can't say that enough."

"You're welcome," Andrea said, blushing down to his neck.

Paolo reached up and removed the talisman from around his neck, the wood still emitting a faint heat from its encounter with Eurynome. "This is yours."

Andrea shook his head and pressed the piece back into his friend's hand, whispering so quietly that even Sandro had to strain to hear it, "Keep it."

Paolo bit his lip, keeping their hands joined just a moment longer than was strictly necessary before slipping it around his neck again. "You're... " Paolo stopped himself and tucked a bit of hair behind Andrea's hair. "Andrea, about ..."

Andrea hopped up from the bed, avoiding touching Paolo in any way and walked straight to his books, touching each of the spines with a unique gentleness. "I'll move out. You can stay here, but I need to find another... Now that you know, I don't want it to be awkward between us. You and me and you and Sandro and Sandro and I. You love him and I..."

Sandro matched Andrea's speed, jumping up from the couch and rushing to the door, peeking inside. "Let him go, Paolo! Think of it, babe! We could fuck on the kitchen counter, in the hallway, on the living room FLOOR!"

Paolo glanced over at his lover and rolled his eyes, standing only to push Sandro out of the room and shut the door. "We don't want you to go. Alright, so Sandro might, but I never said I wanted you to leave and I don't want you to. Ever. What would I do without my best friend around? I'd be lost, Andrea."

Andrea started to speak, but pulled out a volume and concentrated very hard on reading the title. "I'll think about. I'll.... think about. Please. Go."

The demon hunter listened to his friend for once, slipping out of the room and making it a point to ignore Sandro (the incubus already having thrown off his pants, laying suggestively over the couch).

"Paaaaaaolo!"

"Not now, Sandro," Paolo said quietly, his exhaustion hitting him all at once, now that he was standing in their apartment; now that he realised it was all over. Brushing past Sandro, Paolo slipped into their bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Just... not now. I need..."

Paolo didn't acknowledge his lover entering a moment later, didn't even acknowledge him as Sandro carefully removed his clothes, kissing each bruise and cut before tucking Paolo into bed, holding him very close. Paolo wanted to glare at him for his words to Andrea, wanting to tell him to fuck off, but his body was too tired, his mind even more exhausted. And those arms... they were so warm. Sandro was mercifully silent about the entire thing, nuzzling into Paolo's neck with a quiet purr like a kitten.

Sleep came quickly to Paolo, Sandro barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to whisper one last "I love you" into his mortal lover's ear.

+

"Oh, this is a nightmare," Sandro whispered as he opened the front door to get the paper in the morning, finding it stuck to the front door with a massive knife. The incubus pulled the knife out and glared as a thin envelope fell to the ground by his foot, Zlatan's seal obvious on the front.

Cristiano poked his head out of his door. "What kind of friends are you guys going to start bringing home? I don't want to be woken up by some crazy guy with a hunting knife on my porch again. That was just creepy."

Sandro rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, but didn't you pick up some transvestite hooker not too long ago? Don't talk to me about crazy."

Cristiano stepped outside and put his hand on his hips, striking a very annoyed pose. "Umm, hello?! That was the OTHER Ronaldo. Two floors up. Why would I need THAT when I have my Ruud?"

"Because Ruud is sort of creepy in a way," Sandro said with a shrug. "I mean, you were like... seventeen when you moved in with him."

Cristiano glared and rushed back into the apartment. Sandro didn't stand around to see what would happen next. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with an annoyed Ruud van Nistelrooy first thing in the morning. Especially not this morning.

-

Sandro let the knife that had accompanied both newspaper and letter slither across the kitchen table, making Andrea and Paolo jump.

"What the HELL?!"

"You'd think that guy's compensating for something. Special delivery from Zlatan. Oh, and there's a dent in our door now. Putting the mail into the mailbox was too 21st century for Zlatan. … I think we should bill him for it."

Sandro handed the letter to Paolo and the newspaper to Andrea and joined them at the kitchen table, but only after he had grabbed the bowl of candies that was usually sitting on top of the fridge.

Andrea unfolded the newspaper and paled. "'Industrial magnate found dead in warehouse, Police unable to give information yet'. How can they already know about…" Andrea trailed off and fixed his eyes on the picture accompanying the article, showing the coroner and two other officers loading a coffin into the hearse. 

Paolo reached out for Andrea and squeezed his hand tightly.

"Anything in the article about who might have done it?" Sandro asked helpfully and earned himself a kick to the shin by Paolo.

"What?! Newspapers usually make up lies to fill the blank spaces. You can tell a lot about who has written an article by just analysing his "assumptions" and "guesses". See, if they say the police can't give information because the quality of their work needs to be questioned, they probably still have the flowery wedges of their youth hidden in their closets to bring them out each weekend. They are more repressed than you would think, by the way. Believe me, I know. Now, if the article states that it could have been a gang of crack-addicted youths, chances are--"

"Sandro."

"What?!"

"Just shut the fuck up." Paolo took the newspaper out of Andrea's hands and threw it into the sink. "Let's see what Zlatan wants."

The watermarked paper and strong, neat, rich black script were very much Zlatan, Paolo noted as he pulled out the letter.

"I'm giving it two weeks before the city will have forgotten Zambrotta. Remember our appointment at 10am. Officer Stankovic has been informed as well. -- Zlatan"

"Yeah, now I see why he couldn't just have called," Sandro snorted and plopped another piece of chocolate in his mouth. "What time is it?"

"9.35. We should have left a good ten minutes ago." Andrea said and got up, placing their used dishes in the sink, flinching as he saw the picture on the front page again. Biting his lip, he fished out the newspaper and threw it in the bin.

"I'll wait for you in the car."

"We should unsubscribe, you know. There's not much to The Telegraph anyways," Sandro said almost thoughtfully as he watched the researcher shuffle out of the front door. Then he shrugged, grabbed another Milky Way for the drive and got up to follow Andrea.

The candy bar fell to the ground as Paolo suddenly pressed up to him and pushed him against the kitchen counter, his hands to either side of Sandro's face as he kissed him hard.

"Thank you for that protection spell, Sandro. Thank you for looking out for me, and for caring." Paolo brushed his fingers through his lover's hair before taking his hand and dragging him out of the apartment to join Andrea.

Sandro hadn't felt this good for weeks. Hope was a pretty damn good thing to be had. Now he remembered why humans were so fond of it.

\--

The trio arrived at Zlatan's apartment as quickly as they could, managing 10:12 after fighting through more traffic than Paolo said had even been in the district. Zlatan, who was lying with his head resting delicately in Luis's lap, the psychic slowly tracing his master's face, didn't seem to notice their tardiness. Sandro slipped in just in time to see Zlatan lean up, planting a heavy, probing kiss on Luis's lips. "Didn't the two of you get enough of that last night?"

Luis blushed and leaned back against the couch, letting Zlatan sit up. The demon glared at Sandro, but let it go, calling Dejan out from the back room where he'd been poking through Zlatan's art collection. Dejan smiled wide and bright when he saw them, rushing over and giving Andrea a big hug, asking him if he was alright. Andrea assured him everything was fine and a sudden awkward silence fell over the group.

Zlatan started to lay back into Luis's lap, but the smaller man poked him in the side. Zlatan looked back at him. Luis rolled his eyes and pointed not very subtly at Paolo.

Zlatan took the hint. "Thank you, Paolo Maldini. For helping me expel the creature. For figuring out Gianluca's plan. For... all of that." Zlatan's cheeks burned red and immediately laid back against Luis, the psychic grinning proudly, pleased with himself.

Paolo shifted around for a second, until he looked back up at Luis, who had now trained his glare on Paolo. The demon hunter swallowed hard. "You're very welcome, Zlatan."

Luis smiled again and went back to brushing through Zlatan's hair with his long fingers. It was only Paolo's hand sneaking around to pinch Sandro's arm that kept the incubus from saying something more than a little rude in response.

A small smile crept up in the corners of Zlatan's mouth as Luis ran a finger down his nose. "I've had little Lionel on the phone most of the morning. I don't think we need to worry about too many of Gianluca's henchmen trying to get even with us. When Leo explained the situation, most of them seemed... a bit reluctant to be involved any longer. I believe even his most powerful friends will think twice about paying our dear city a visit."

"You're sure?" Paolo said, taking a step forward.

"Unless Lionel is a very very good liar," Luis said, sticking up for his master. "And no one is that good."

Paolo stopped and nodded. "I should have known you would have been digging."

Luis cocked an eyebrow. "I didn't have to dig. Lionel isn't really in any of sort of position to deny me access."

"Again with the creepy," Sandro said, shivering a little.

Paolo ignored his lover and looked down at Zlatan. "I want the list. The names, the numbers, where they work."

"It's been taken care of," Zlatan insisted.

"I'd still like to see it," Paolo said, his voice very flat and determined. "Now if you don't mind."

"I'll have a copy made and sent to you."

"Can you not stab it into our door maybe?" Sandro started, but Paolo lifted his hand and cut him off.

"No," Paolo said again. "I want a list right now. A big building like this must have one copy machine."

Zlatan sat up and pressed a quick kiss to Luis's cheek. "Of course. I should have know that you would be interested in doing your own investigation of sorts. You are a unique one, Paolo Maldini. And I do like working with you."

The two of them, with Sandro shuffling behind, walked towards the office. Luis and Andrea watched them go, before locking eyes and breaking the silence.

"Thank you for going after my master, Andrea," Luis said. "Thank you."

Andrea grumbled something under his breath and Luis grinned. "Are you afraid right now, Andrea? Of the future? Of what is to come?"

The Italian didn't have to answer.

"Stay. Stay here, right where you are," Luis said with calming certainty. "They're going to need you. Even Sandro will need you soon enough. They just don't know it yet."

+

Leaving Zlatan's building, Paolo tugged Dejan's sleeve and leaned against the hood of the car. "What do you think, Dejan? The police, do they know? Do they suspect?"

Dejan shrugged. "It's an ongoing investigation, Paolo. I can only do so much. The man was very wealthy. He had a lot of friends in this town. Popular. Even dead, he has a lot of sway around here."

"What does that mean for us?" Paolo asked.

"They don't know anything about Andrea," Dejan said, shuffling his feet. "And they won't find out from me. Paolo, I promise you that at the very least."

Paolo nodded, brushing his hair from his eyes. "Then what's wrong?"

Dejan started to speak, stopped himself, then continued, his voice boyish, with more than a bit of fear lacing it. "It's over, then? This whole thing?"

Paolo threw his head back and laughed, then patted Dejan on the shoulder. "Dejan Stankovic, don't you know this business at all? It's never over."


End file.
